


Revenge Isn’t As Sweet As You

by hunkamunka144



Series: The Lannister Legacy [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 16:49:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 171,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7648834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunkamunka144/pseuds/hunkamunka144
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU – Jaime and Brienne head up North to complete her remaining pledges. What could possibly go wrong?</p><p>This is a sequel to A Past to Die For</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Going North

**Author's Note:**

> Though very little of this is linked to the show, this roughly occurs during Season 5’s time frame.
> 
> I am blessed to have the amazing Bergamot as my Beta. Her patience, guidance, thoughtful edits and support made this story so much better than what it started out as. That you so much, Bergamot! You rock as always!
> 
> Alas, I can't stop tinkering, so any mistakes are 100% mine.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this. I hope to publish a chapter every Monday.

Normally, Jaime enjoyed waking up with his wife draped all over him. The heat radiating off her was a luxurious comfort this far North. But despite Brienne’s reassuring presence, Jaime felt uneasy. 

Knowing it would not wake her from her deep slumber, he gently shoved her off. Brienne mumbled something about “blueberry pie.” She smacked her lips and then drifted back to sleep. 

Smiling and shaking his head, Jaime got up and stretched. Though Brienne liked to sleep in, he had too much on his mind to stay for their usual morning fun. 

He could not help grinning as he recalled that these last few days at sea had been a wonderful beginning to their marriage. They seemed not to be able to keep their hands off each other, and his wench was even more ravenous than he! Now, though, the newness was beginning to wear off, and the enormity of their situation weighed on his mind.

First he worried for Myrcella down in Dorne. Prince Oberyn had been a popular man among his people, and Jaime feared reprisals against his family for the man’s death. 

He had sent Bronn off to follow Littlefinger’s ‘ambassadorial’ party that was headed to meet Myrcella in Dorne. He trusted Bronn to keep an eye on Baelish and had given him express permission to threaten the man if necessary. 

Jaime had wanted to send Clegane’s head down to Dorne as peace offering, but the whole body had disappeared from King’s Landing. There were rumors that Qyburn was the last one to be seen the corpse.

Exhaling, Jaime also had his own qualms in regards to his stubborn wife and this damn pledge of hers to protect the Stark girls by any means. He cherished his wench, but she did have a tendency to attract trouble with her oaths, and, even worse, to seek it out.

Case in point, when Jaime was ordering Bronn to head down to Dorne, Brienne had discreetly directed their four remaining personal guards to pick up Lady Sansa from Tarth and take her up North in a few weeks. Through her last coded message, the Stark girl had stated that she would be staying with family friends, the Lord and Lady Cerwyn. Their homestead was located on the far northern outskirts between Winterfell and Moat Cailin.

As Jaime silently mulled over their plans, he fiddled with a small portable clay stove in the corner of their cramped quarters. After the water had boiled, he delivered the cup of hot Moon Tea to the bedside table next to his wife’s lightly snoring body. 

A foolish grin crossed Jaime’s lips as he stared down at her. Pulling the blankets up over her bare shoulders, he then shrugged into his heavy cloak and climbed up to the deck to get some fresh air. He leaned against the deck rail, losing himself into the tumultuous thoughts that seemed to pound against him the farther North they sailed. 

Upon their departure, Lord Tywin had gone with them to the docks at King’s Landing, his demands clear. “You are only to kill the usurper Stannis and put Tyrion in charge of Castle Black. Nothing more,” he had stressed. “After that, you are to go home to Casterly Rock and produce an heir.” 

Tywin’s smile had been all teeth, and Jaime remembered hearing his wench loudly gulp at the sight. The threat was obvious and both had nodded curtly in agreement. 

His father had been so adamant that Jaime would not have been surprised if the Hand had sent spies after them to make sure they stayed on track. 

Reflecting on Tywin’s commands made Jaime realize that all he really wanted was a simpler life with the woman he loved. One where he and his wench could just be on the road again without any worries or oaths or responsibilities. 

Pulled from his thoughts, Jaime felt a large presence amble into the space next to him. He knew Brienne would seek him out eventually. She leaned wearily against the rail next him. His wife was not a morning person and Jaime side-eyed her as she gazed grumpily out at the water.

She yawned, exhausted. Normally being at sea invigorated her, but lately, she seemed drained of energy. He was worried about her, but Brienne was adamant that it was the cold weather and her overly-rambunctious husband that was making her so worn out. Surprisingly, the only thing that gave her any energy was drinking the Moon Tea, but it seemed that even this morning it had not been at full steep for she stared blurrily at him now.

“How are you feeling, wife?” He tucked the piece of straw-colored hair back over her ear. 

As she leaned into the comfort of his touch, she grumbled, “The same.” 

Not used to waking up alone in bed, Brienne had known something was troubling her husband. She peered into his face. “And are you alright?” 

He nodded and scooted closer to be near her warmth; his covered stump snaked under her tunic and lightly ran up and down her back nervously. He had already complained to her that the cold seemed to use his amputated wrist as a more direct route to seep into his bones.

She took in his anxious appearance and frowned. His fidgeting reminded her of how cats were around water. Or when King Tommen forced Sir Pounce to wear those cute little outfits and put on a show for them. Talk about trying to escape! The look on that cat was the same forlorn expression that her husband wore now.

Brienne placed her arm over his shoulders. “You need to relax, Jaime. All will be okay.” 

Jaime surreptitiously studied her. “Though I appreciate your new ‘carefree’ attitude, I hope you will always remain my predictable, stubborn, and dour wench.” His chuckle sounded forced as she scowled at him. Then, with his next breath, he once more recounted all his concerns that were pressing down on him to her.

Yet again, Brienne found that her introspective husband was obsessing about things that she had no answer for. And still his questions would not stop. Like an incessant worrier, it seemed he always had to overthink things. Ever since he had lost his hand, he had become less and less impulsive. At times she missed that Jaime. Such as now.

Finishing his litany, Jaime grumbled to her, “I do not know how we are to keep our involvement with Winterfell a secret from the Hand.” 

She sighed out the same answer as before, “Neither do I, husband.” 

“Father will certainly know we went against his expressed orders when my brother and Sansa Stark are made the new Wardens of the North.” Forgetting himself, he tiredly rested his forehead against the rail of the ship. The freezing metal instantly bit into his skin, and he jerked back with an angry growl. “There are just too many risks, wench.”

Brienne knew it was pointless to remind him that it was too late to turn around. Besides, she understood that this was his way of dealing with his uneasiness, so instead she jested, “What happened to my reckless husband?”

“After marriage, those days of spontaneity are gone.” What he meant in a joking manner came out gruffer than planned and she frowned at him. He blamed his frustration on being trapped at sea for so long.

“What?” She growled offended.

Seeing his wife’s glower was never an attractive option. She really was an ugly wench when she was angry. “What I mean is,” he amended, “I do not want to risk anything now in the fear of losing you.” 

“Oh…” Her scrunched up face slackened a bit. 

She still did not sound one hundred percent convinced, so he added, “I will feel better once we reach land and begin this task.”

Now she grinned that toothy smile that was one of her few pleasant features. “Well, the Captain just informed me that we are nearing the Three Sister’s Island, so that means tonight we should reach the area closest to disembark for Moat Cailin.” She yawned again. She had been having such wonderful dreams, too, before the Captain had banged on the door with this latest update.

Jaime smiled, pleased. Last he had heard, it would be another day or so stuck on the boat. Maybe the winds, and their luck, were finally turning.

*

When they neared White Harbor, the merchant vessel had stopped to let them cast off. Now Brienne steered their small row-boat towards the shore. She did not ask Jaime to help with rowing, and he did not volunteer. His role was to push the larger ice chunks in the water aside when they got in their way. 

Finally, they arrived at the shore and dragged the boat into the nearby woods to hide it. Jaime doubted they would need it in the future, but it never hurt to have an emergency means of escape.

Instead of wearing their usual armor, both had donned thick leather clothing and heavy, hooded, fur-lined cloaks. They had false documents and clothing to help conceal their appearances; but, there was still a chance that they would be discovered. No matter how hard they tried to disguise their identities, they were still a one-handed man and a giantess. 

For once Brienne was thankful that she could be easily mistaken for a man. And if she had to communicate to anyone, she just needed to remember to deepen her voice. Besides, Jaime was the one who would be doing all the talking.

Even the pommels to their Valyrian swords had been replaced to make them nondescript when sheathed. She had also tucked the ornate dagger Jaime had given to her into her boot.

After verifying that his new and improved wrist cuff harness was properly secured to his shoulder, Jaime used his teeth to pull on a pair of gloves. They covered the fake hand that he’d had made expressly for this journey. The steel appendage was hollow on the inside to lighten the weight, but still strong enough that he could block and punch with it. It twisted into a specially-designed cuff that allowed him to clip on other add-ons, like hooks or blades. 

Once satisfied that the cold would not affect the metal hand from being removed quickly if a blade was needed, he popped the false hand back into the cuff and turned to lock it in.

As Brienne once more readjusted the heavy cloak about her large shoulders, Jaime did likewise as he scanned the area.  
They did not want to chance another capture like what happened to them when she was transporting Jaime back to King’s Landing all that time ago. Reassured that they were alone, they settled their packs on their shoulders and began to trek along the icy shore.

Soon, they would cut through the woods and stick to game paths to reach their destination. 

Jaime stared at the patches of snow on the forested floor in disdain. By the time they get to the Great Wall that is all they would see. With a cocky grin, Jaime stated, “Just like old times, huh wench?”

Brienne grinned. “But this time I know how to shut you up.” She turned and kissed him hard, which did silence him. She added sincerely, “And thank you for doing this with me.”

“I would not have it any other way, wench.” Licking his lips, he asked mischievously, “So, how soon until we make camp?” 

She smirked. “Depends on how fast you can hurry along. But we need horses first.” 

He peered into the dark, empty woods. “I am afraid, my love, that will have to wait until we reach Moat Cailin.”

To his disappointment, she replied, “Then we best press on until we get there.”

He slipped his left hand into hers and clasped it tightly. As they trudged onwards, they fell into a comfortable silence, neither really feeling the need to fill in.

*

They were finally nearing Moat Cailin, and having hiked through the cold night, both Jaime and Brienne were exhausted. The trek had been a long one; they were more used to riding than walking long distances. Along the way, Jaime was tempted to have them stay in one of the few abandoned homesteads they had passed, but he knew his obstinate wench wanted to get everything settled before they relaxed for the night.

Now, the risk of discovery kept them awake as they strode to the main gate of the town. Luckily, the guards at the gate were sellswords, not Bolton loyalists, and bored ones at that. Jaime and Brienne passed through without scrutiny, their carefully-forged papers unexamined.

As the odd-looking couple sauntered along the dirt streets of Moat Cailin, the few people they passed were somber and morose. Jaime was grateful that no one made eye contact with them, not even the man they hunted down for horses and supplies.

After purchasing two mounts, they turned the corner and saw why the townspeople were so subdued. Two flayed bodies were strapped to crossed wooden beams in the town square. Jaime cursed loudly in surprise while Brienne quickly averted her eyes. 

When they glanced at one another, it became obvious that getting the Boltons out of Winterfell was a worthwhile cause. But it also made Jaime nervous for the lives of his wench and his brother.

That night they risked staying in an Inn on the outskirts of town. They needed their rest for the long journey to the Great Wall. It was already going to be an arduous trek, and Jaime doubted they would get much sleep during that time. Being exhausted and on the road in their current condition was just asking for trouble. Besides, it was too cold to be out in this blustery weather when they did not have to be and already his stump ached. 

They enjoyed a quiet meal in the inn’s dining room. Brienne played the role of Jaime’s squire and he the irritated lord. The act ended as soon as they stumbled up to their room and locked the door behind them.

Eyeing the two separate beds, Brienne tossed her belongings on the one closest to the door, which Jaime then collapsed onto. Brienne glared, sighed, and moved her gear to the other bed.

Jaime’s laugh was muffled by the pillow. “I am not moving, wench. Now help me out of these.” He raised one of his booted feet up and shook it at her.

Brienne ignored him and removed a small jar of salve from her pack. She sat on the edge of the bed and waited patiently for him.

With a groan, Jaime stood and fell back onto her bed. He rolled over and presented his shoulder to her. She unhooked his brace and slid it off his arm. She carefully loosened his cuff and gloved hand. When she set the brace aside, Jaime leaned tiredly against her shoulder and once more raised his boot for her attentions.

When she snorted at his request, Jaime huffed, “Well, you are my squire.”

She answered with a smirk and scooped out some of the sweet-smelling balm. She applied the ointment to his exposed stump and began to work it in.

Soon, Jaime was sighing in contentment. Already he felt the pain in his stump subsiding as her warm hands worked in the relieving cream. With his discomfort dissipating, his thoughts focused on his quiet wife. Brienne was obviously lost in thought.  
Jaime nudged her shoulder.

In a gruff tone, she stated, “What we saw today—if that is not a reminder as to how badly the people need Lady Sansa back in power…”

Jaime nodded in agreement and sighed, “I think we best stop in Winterfell on the way up. I know it is risky but the situation is far grimmer than I had imagined. I need to make sure my brother will not run into any potential dangers.”

This was not the time she wanted her husband’s reckless nature to resurface.

Brienne did not need to remind her husband of the constrained time frame they were under. Even using horses, it would take a long time to reach the Great Wall. And Sansa would be arriving at the Cerwyn homestead while they were up North. She did not want to leave the Stark child vulnerable for too long. Having witnessed the evidence of their brutality, Brienne was sure it would not take much for the Boltons to find out that the heir to Winterfell was close by. 

What really concerned her about Jaime’s change in plans was showing up at an enemy’s stronghold when said foe knew what they looked like. Roose Bolton had been a rather mercurial host to both of them a while back at Harrenhal. Brienne frowned at the thought of what he might do if he recognized them.

Jaime knew his wife very well and read her expression. “Don’t worry, wench. At the first sign of trouble, we will retreat.”

She shook her head. “I just fear that if we are recognized, Bolton will know something is up.”

He nodded in agreement. “Unfortunately that is a chance we will have to take, Brienne. I cannot send my brother in there unprepared.”

With a sigh, she reluctantly agreed. Neither wanted to see his brother flayed.

To assuage any further concerns, Jaime added, “There is no reason for anyone to suspect us, so we will not be caught. But if that does happen,” his teeth lightly bit down on her earlobe, and he breathed into her ear, “you know I am very good with my mouth.” 

Brienne blushed at his audacity and quickly finished her ministrations to his stump. He tracked her movements as she swiftly recapped the jar of salve and placed it back in her bag. 

Knowing a good way to take both their minds off the gravity of their situation, Jaime pulled her back against him and kissed her neck. “Now, wench, is there something I can rub on you?” 

She laughed and sighed, “Oh, there is a spot or two that could use your gentle touch, my lord.” 

With a chuckle, he slowly began to undress her. As each area of skin was revealed, he kissed that part of her body. Soon, his attentions had them warming up despite the chill outside. All thoughts of Roose Bolton could wait until the morning. 

*

Days later, they rode up to the ramparts of Winterfell. Before them were a few hundred sellswords that were stationed outside the gates. Jaime nodded to himself, not at all surprised by the amount of men the Boltons had protecting them.

Alas, it was impossible to tell how many more were actually inside the tall, fortified keep. Jaime gave Brienne a look and she hunched over even more. After showing their papers, both were allowed entry into Winterfell. They trotted their horses into the courtyard and left them with the stable master.

Jaime was aghast at the noticeable destruction to the old fortress and was glad Bolton’s men were at least rebuilding parts of it. He was relieved that the sacred Weirwood tree still looked healthy. 

As they scouted the interior of Winterfell’s courtyard, Jaime made amicable small talk with Brienne. While Brienne nodded along to his inane chatter, they both took mental notes on how many guards there were and what fortifications were throughout the fortress. 

Looking around, Jaime quietly mused, “He must have all the bloody Frey’s as his guards. Not surprised by the number though. New ones are practically marching out from their mothers’ wombs as we speak.”

“The Frey’s also betrayed the Starks…” Brienne’s voice was dangerously low.

As she studied possible weak spots for an attack, she found very few. Unfortunately, it seemed that Roose Bolton had loyalists everywhere. 

With a slight indication of her head, they both then walked closer to the main building.

That was when they spied more propped-up flayed bodies, the flies feasting on them. The smell made Brienne gag. 

Before they could turn away to leave, Brienne grabbed Jaime’s arm, pulling him to a stop. Roose Bolton and a young man had exited from a large building and into the courtyard. They were just finishing a heated discussion that soon left the young man glowering at the final curt words stated by the Lord of Winterfell. Roose briskly marched away towards the stables. 

Jaime and Brienne made sure that their hoods concealed their faces as much as possible.

A brown haired woman hurried over to the young man with several large hunting dogs in tow. In frustration, the young lord grasped her arm in a bruising grip. As his dogs barked and jumped in merriment, he smacked her face a few times in anger and yelled disparaging remarks at her. 

Jaime studied the cruel man. There was a slight resemblance to Roose, and he wondered if they were related. Even with the rambunctious dogs rubbing against him, the boy seemed fit to be tied. Worried where the boy would decide to direct his wrath next, Jaime turned to lead his wench away. 

Suddenly, the dogs pranced away from their master and bounded towards Jaime and Brienne. 

Brienne backed up nervously, and Jaime joked, “Maybe they smell Ser Pounce on you. That little furball seemed quite entranced with you back in King’s Landing.”

Brienne’s smile was forced as they tried to push their way through the crowd of growling beasts. “I believe they can sense that I often help rescue defenseless felines.”

She was about to shove them more forcibly aside, but such actions got the dogs owner’s full attention. “You there, stop!”

The young lord rushed forward just as Brienne halted her movement. Already guards were hurriedly making their way over to them. Jaime raised his chin and turned toward the boy and his guards. Finally, his natural irritation could be put to good use. It was the anxiety emanating from his wife that concerned him most.

As the boy made his way over, he studied Jaime from head to toe as if to gauge him. Jaime did not care for the indolent grin that was soon spreading widely on the young man’s features as he stared at his wench.

To Jaime he snidely inquired, “So, how much do you want for your squire?” 

Of all the things to be asked, that was not Jaime’s top three questions. “Excuse me?”

As if talking to an insipid peon, the young man asked again but much slower. “How much do you want? He would certainly give my dogs a good challenge.” He studied Brienne’s hulking form as if she was a new toy, and Jaime bristled at such a look. 

Any trepidation Jaime had disappeared as he glowered at the petulant brat. “I do not think…”

The man spoke quickly over Jaime, “You know it is a crime to hurt my pets, do you not? I am Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell.” 

Jaime dipped his head and internally groused at their bad luck. “Our humble apologies, my lord. My squire is not very bright, and he meant no disrespect.”

He went to move them along, when Ramsay’s hand stopped him, “You dare not say no.”

Half-jokingly, Jaime inquired, “Well then, how much will you give me for him?” 

Even though she still towered over the smaller Bolton, Brienne stayed quiet, trying to appear as meek and unimposing as possible. It was not hard since she was vacillating between wanting to strangle the little twerp and running away. 

Clearly insulted by Jaime’s question, Ramsay stated, “You must be new to our area. It would certainly be to your advantage as a new lord to these parts to gift him over to me.”

“Actually, we were just passing through. My squire has already been promised to the Black; otherwise I would gladly be rid of him.”

Ramsay stared at Jaime, as if assessing the truth of his words.

“Truly, you would be saving me a trip through this cold snow, but alas they are expecting us,” Jaime added and handed Ramsay the papers Vary’s had forged for them before they’d left King’s Landing. The documents stated that the young man traveling with Jaime had been promised to the Night’s Watch by the King himself. 

“If not to meet with your new Warden, then why are you here?” The bastard asked.

Jaime shrugged. “I wanted to get a weather report for the Great Wall.”

“It is cold and snowing,” Ramsay said through gritted teeth. He stared at them a moment longer and then his expression changed. 

Recognizing the evil gleam in the young man’s eyes, Jaime sighed inwardly; Joffrey often had that malicious look when he did not get his way. 

Ramsay’s smile grew calculating. “Then you must stay for lunch.”

Jaime did not like how Bolton had said the word ‘lunch’. And based on her subtle movements beside him, neither did his wench.  
“I am afraid that we are on a tight schedule, otherwise…” Jaime let his words trail off, his grin as innocent as possible.

“It is impolite to refuse a host’s invitation.” The young lord’s shit-eating grin was getting on Jaime’s last nerve.

He was about to decline further, when from the corner of his eye, Jaime noticed Roose Bolton standing outside the stables. He seemed to be arguing with the quarter master.

Though tempted to leave without their horses or provisions, Jaime knew that action would raise far too many questions. But the longer Jaime and Brienne spent disagreeing with Ramsay, the more likely Roose’s attention would be drawn their way.

“Is your squire mute?” Ramsay asked.

Jaime turned to Brienne. “Go ahead, boy, and say something. Do not make me clout you.”

Brienne made her voice purposely deep, “Sorry, my lord.” She turned her downcast eyes towards Ramsay, “Apologies, my lord.”

Ramsay studied Brienne’s face. “He is an odd one…” he said, finally.

He looked like he wanted to say more when Roose Bolton rode over. “I will be back later this evening,” said the older lord. 

He gazed down at the two hooded men and then turned to Ramsay, his disdain clear. “There is no time for you to play games.”

“Yes father,” Ramsay cheerfully stated, and the Lord of Winterfell trotted away without another word. Ramsay glared at the two figures in front of him. “You best be on your way,” he spat.

“Yes,” said Jaime. “Come along, boy.”

Brienne bowed humbly to Ramsay, which caused him to glower even more.

Jaime and Brienne then rushed to their stabled horses. Barely exchanging a worried glance, they quickly got onto their saddles and hastened from the keep. Ramsay seemed like the type who did not like to lose, and Jaime would not be surprised if he sent guards after them in pursuit.

Though they did not gather as much information regarding Winterfell as they would have liked, they had learned all they needed to know about the murderous Boltons. Things definitely needed to change.

*

Their horses charged up the small trail that led deeper into the forested area around Winterfell. Figuring on the side of caution, they took a route that went higher up in elevation. By going this way, Jaime hoped to lose any pursuers from Winterfell. 

Even with this slight detour of cutting to the mountains sooner than planned, they would not reach the Great Wall for quite some time. This was the part that Jaime hated about adventuring, all the boring stuff in between. The aches, cold and exhaustion always seemed to be a loud companion during these dull times. At least with a chance of pursuit, his worrisome thoughts could be kept at bay. 

After some hard riding, Jaime signaled for them to duck into a thick crop of trees and wait out any followers. As they both chewed thoughtfully on dried meat, they considered what they had observed.

Ramsay had given them both the creeps, and Jaime began to think that it would be better if bastard and his traitorous father were killed instead. It was not part of the original plan, but he felt that this was a just cause, an honorable task that would be worth the wrath of Tywin Lannister. Once he believed they were safely away from Winterfell, he would talk to Brienne about it.  
When enough time had passed, Jaime figured Ramsay’s men had given up on trying to track them down. Jaime ventured that their pursuers would be taking the place of Squire Brienne as entertainment for the bastard’s beasts. 

They still could not take a chance at being caught unawares, so they would be cautious tonight about a fire. Already the low sun was setting, and Jaime could feel the cold seeping through his stump. 

They huddled miserably in their tent that night, shivering horribly. Brienne was practically wrapped around Jaime as he held his stump protectively between their bodies. Their spare blanket had to be given to the horses; they needed their mounts too much to chance frozen steeds in the morning.

Jaime wondered when he had changed so much; not that long ago he would have sworn the cold would never have troubled him. He did not know if it was due to his stump or his advancing age. He turned to Brienne to ask her opinion on the matter and noticed her blue-lined lips. Apparently, he was not the only one affected by the cold.

Their teeth were chattering too much to talk, so each took turns resting their cold nose against the other’s warm neck. Soon, it became a game to see who yelped first from the freezing touch. Gasps were acceptable. Rubbing said nose against the other’s body parts was also allowable. Until one cold poke under the ear startled Jaime to an angry growl and then all bets were off. Teasing touches soon turned to warmer caresses. 

Afterwards, they lay cuddled close to one another, their minds too active to rest. With his stump still resting inside her breeches for warmth, Jaime broached the subject of the Boltons. 

“I understand what you mean about them being the blight of the Northern lands. That bastard son of Roose is a sadist. I had hoped there could have been another way.” He kissed her forehead, “So we add them to our list below Stannis and the Red Witch?”

Jaime felt her nod her head against his shoulder, and after a mighty yawn she lazily stated, “Oh yes, husband. They need to be gone from Winterfell, and the only way to do so is to annihilate their House. They are known betrayers and would turn on the Starks once again.” 

“My father is going to be most displeased.” He warily chuckled at the thought and then shut his eyes to try to get some rest.

Still, neither got much sleep that night, and even before the sun began to rise, they were continuing on their journey.

*

The weeks grew colder and shorter, and the terrain rockier, as they continued to trek towards the Great Wall. Snow was thick on the ground and in the trees. Twice they lost the path and had to backtrack. At this high elevation, the cold was severe, and they were weary at using their tent at night. There was always a chance that a drastic dip in the temperature could freeze them to death by morning.

Luckily, the Gods seemed to be favoring them. Just as a snowstorm blew in, they stumbled on a vacant cabin. There was also a barn close by and in good enough shape that they did not have to keep the horses in the same room with them.

But even being in a protective structure, the freezing wind made itself known. 

Realizing they had no chance for survival unless they built a fire, Brienne took on the task while Jaime scavenged the contents of the cabinets. Thankfully, they did not need to worry about anyone spotting smoke in such a remote location. Still, worry nagged at Jaime; things just felt off. He hoped it was due to fatigue and not something darker. There was one good thing about this weather being so beastly at night - nothing dared to risk venturing out in it.

“Looks like whoever lived here left in the hurry,” said Jaime.

He slammed the cabinet door harder than intended and winced. He surveyed what he had found. Alas, it was just some flour and old root vegetables. At least they were not moldy. Maybe Brienne would make them stew tonight.

His wench was moving split wood from the pile near the hearth to later feed the already blazing fire. “Do you think the Boltons drove these people out?” She asked.

Jaime shrugged. “Either the Boltons or the Wildings.” 

Surprisingly, they had not come across anyone on their journey. Jaime wondered if maybe something else might be the cause; usually people were not driven from their homes so easily. 

Although there was an obvious sense of mounting tension the closer they got to the Wall, neither Jaime or Brienne brought it up. Instead, they were overly cheerful as they made dinner.

As the normalcy of making camp took over their moods, they soon could not stop grinning at each other as each contributed to making the meal. After their makeshift dinner of stew, clean-up became another game. When the food was put away, they brewed some Moon Tea and soon kept warm in other ways.

Afterwards, Jaime lazily rubbed her naked back as she lay propped on top of him. “Not quite what you expected our marriage to be, eh, wench?”

Brienne traced the outline of a faint scar on his bare chest. “Oh, something’s are expected.” Though her hands were a bit chilled, he warmed slightly at her touch. 

“Should I heat up more tea?” He asked innocently.

Instead of answering him, she began to kiss his chest. “I think I want to explore my husband, first.”

He had no qualms about that. After all, he certainly enjoyed exploring her whenever he could. And by now, they knew each other rather well.

Between light bites to his neck, she asked, “Do you like that, husband?”

“Oh, it certainly is nice…”

“Nice?” She mocked. Her hand grazed his groin. A pleased smile graced her lips when his sagging shaft began to rise, and she teasingly squeezed it. She worked on it carefully and then leaned downwards to take him with her mouth. 

After a few moments of the most wonderful sensations, Jaime gathered his wits and pulled her up to face him.

With a lustful grin, he suddenly flipped her and she was on the bottom. “Now it is my turn.” 

As he went to work tasting her, her loud moans of pleasure spurned him on. Jaime was still surprised he could make her respond like this. She was the only other woman than his sister that he had ever been with and at times he wondered if he was doing it right. 

Breathless from her climax, Brienne pulled him up to kiss him and sighed, “We will make more tea later…”


	2. Confrontation

Over the next week of traveling towards the Great Wall, Jaime and Brienne journeyed into grimmer surroundings. The few homesteads they came across were abandoned, some even horrifically damaged. Inside, they found evidence of dried blood, but no bodies. This was more than just a petty lord threatening his people for sport. Something more sinister was going on here. 

And the blasted forest had been quiet for so long now. There seemed to be no bird calls or wild game; nothing, not even the wind, rustled the trees. 

At night, Jaime and Brienne used abandoned homesteads for protection from the freezing elements. But the feeling of dread was so oppressive; they barely spoke to one another. The near blackness of the bitter cold nights only made it worse, and a fire would only draw attention to their vulnerable location.

Jaime felt more and more on edge, and even the usual stubborn set to his wife’s large shoulders grew tighter in anxious worry.

As the short days wore on, Jaime began to mutter to himself to break the silence. In the beginning, it was only a sporadic comment, the usual complaints about the freezing weather or the ache of the saddle. He even brought up his brother, not believing he would be able to stand this frigid cold. He hoped Tyrion was alright and not dead from the miserable temperature. 

When Jaime grumbled for the thousandth time that, “Lions do not like the snow,” Brienne just rolled her eyes and kept silent.   
Jaime found it frustrating that she was only more introspective and quiet when she was nervous. She also rolled her eyes more. He wanted her to banter with him so that he did not feel he had to try to keep their spirits up. Truth be told, he was no longer certain if he needled her to get a reaction, or if he just wanted to hear anything but the silence that seemed to engulf them. 

He vocalized his worry about the amount of supporters Bolton had in the Freys and sellswords, how well-fortified Winterfell was now, and could they even get Sansa there safely. They had to time this just right to even meet up with her and figure out their next step. And what if his brother says no? 

Finally, after having had enough, Brienne grounded out with her usual dour demeanor, “Let us kill Stannis first and then we can deal with Winterfell.”

Her obstinate reply made him grind his teeth. It was not as simple as that, and she knew it. She was being pig-headed on purpose. 

Slowing down, he turned his horse towards a secluded area off the trail. His wench followed him, her frown deepening. Maybe it was time for them to work out some of their unresolved frustrations.

Though he never liked sparring in the snow, Jaime was feeling too on edge and needed a release. It was too early for the other kind of relief he often sought with his wife, so fighting it was. Dismounting, he bowed lightly to her.

“Shall we—” He pulled free his tourney sword. 

With a feral grin, she leapt down from her horse and grabbed her practice sword as well. Yes, they both needed this. 

He swapped out his fake hand and popped the dull blade into his cuff. 

Brienne glowered. “You are relying too much on your right. You should focus more on using your left hand instead.”

“This is fine, wench. Besides, my right is stronger than ever before!” Jaime barely held his tongue in check. He understood why she cautioned him about it, but he knew what he was doing.

After a quick stretch, they began the familiar dance of swords. Back and forth they went, getting into the rhythm of the fight.

To change things up, Jaime tossed snow into Brienne’s face, temporarily blinding her.

After she had dodged and parried his follow through lunge, she flicked the cold, wet remnants from her face at him. “You will pay for that, Ser.” 

Smirking at her petulant attitude, he quipped, “Keep that tone up and I will spank you, my lady.”

She smiled. “My father tried that once. He had a grey beard just like yours.”

In no time they were exchanging blows and jibes again, settling into the familiar dance that had won Jaime over so long ago. 

Chuckling, Jaime ducked under one of her swings and smacked her ass with the dull blade.

“See, my right-hand works great.”

She began to attack his left side, trying to make her point, “Which is why you should practice with your left. You are getting too complac—.”

Jaime disarmed her mid-sentence. 

As he dropped the tip of his sword, he stepped into her. “Maybe I should just work on my hand strength instead,” he joked. He slid his left hand down her side and squeezed her butt. 

Brienne laughed and clutched his collar, pressing her cold nose into his neck. The fight had helped to release their tension.   
Brienne was maneuvering him backward and was about to have her way with him when they heard something large moving through the trees. 

Something else had been awakened by their fighting.

They ran towards their horses to grab their real blades when a figure suddenly emerged and stopped in their path. Shaped in the form of a man, he was like nothing Jaime had ever seen before. There was barely anything left to suggest that he had once been human. Everything about the creature was white. 

Except his eyes. They were the clearest blue Jaime had ever seen; bluer, even, than Brienne’s.

That blue was aimed menacingly at the both of them. The creature staggered towards them, a broken blade clutched tightly in one fist, the fingers on its other hand shaped like sharpened daggers of bone.

Suddenly, it rushed at them.

Jaime growled low as he avoided a swipe of its clawed hand. “Watch out for its reach!”

Brienne dodged and then swung around to hit it with her blunt sword. Despite the dull edge of the tourney blade, it made an exceptional bludgeoning tool. But the monster was relentless.

As she began to get winded from her exertions, she gasped, “What is it?”

Jaime ducked another lunge and prodded the being backward with the tip of his sword. “I do not know—”

Brienne’s exasperation was clear. “Well, did they mention anything like this at your father’s council meeting?” 

The flailing claws and the rusty broken sword continued to swing at them.

“Sorry, I might have been dozing during all those interminable committee meetings.” His tone was just barely remorseful.   
“Besides, wouldn’t I tell you about—“ He ducked to the ground as the creature clawed at him. “—half-formed ice zombies?”

Grimly, they took turns thrashing their blunt swords against the creature’s sides like it was a dusty old rug. That only seemed to piss it off more.

“I say, wench, any idea on how to kill it?” Jaime suspected it was their tenacious curiosity that had them both staying and not retreating.

“The heart?” Their swords might be more like a blunt tipped tool than weapon, but if you poked at anything long enough, it would eventually get through. Brienne grimaced and stared into the open cavity where her sword tip had just disappeared. “No, it’s definitely not the heart.”

The creature turned to strike her with its sword. She blocked it, and the creature’s edged weapon was sharp enough to nick her blade. “It is also very strong!”

Without further discussion, they took turns bludgeoning the creature until its arm holding the weapon broke off. The arm twitched in the snow for a moment and then grew still. 

With a shaky breath, Jaime tried to sound blasé. “Right, guess that leaves the head.” 

Smacking her lips in soundless agreement, Brienne glanced at Jaime and awaited his signal.

Jaime frowned at her. “You want me to start?”

“Well, it is your idea, husband.”

“Wench,” he accused. He sighed, realizing he’d walked into her trap. “Fine.” 

Between the angry swipes of its clawed hand, they were able to bash in its head until it had partially collapsed in on itself. Even blind, the creature still came at them. 

Now they were more determined to whittle it down and figure out what damage would actually kill the monster.

They were soon breathing hard from exhaustion, their breath clouding the air around them. Jaime couldn’t tell how long they’d been fighting the thing – minutes? Hours? The creature struggled to stand straight as it swung wildly at Brienne. Its head was a misshapen lump. The monster looked so pathetic that Brienne started to sob every time she hit it. 

“Why will you not die?” She cried out, sounding broken herself, and slammed her tourney sword into its hollow gut. The wench may be violent, but even she had her limits.

Jaime scowled at the creature. “We should just leave it and go.”

“And leave it to suffer?”

“How do we know it suffers, wife? It just looks annoyed to me. Though I am curious what will kill it—” 

Finally registering the stubborn set of Brienne’s jaw, Jaime retreated. “This is ridiculous. Keep it busy.”

As he trotted toward their horses to grab his real blade, he stopped. He wondered if his wench had actually started to wail. No, it was something else, something approaching—a lot of something’s, actually.

It hardly took a worried glance at his wife before she had abandoned the creature and was trudging through the snow toward him. Six more of those creatures had lumbered out of the woods nearby and were surrounding their monster. It picked up its fallen arm and struggled determinedly after them.

“Ride, Jaime!” Brienne shouted, swinging into her saddle and kicking her horse into a gallop.

Jaime took one last look over his shoulder before he chased after her. 

“Oh, wench,” he groused, “what have we gotten ourselves into now?”

*

That night, one stayed awake while the other slept. Though it meant no more sparring—in bed or out of it, they agreed their next release should wait until they were finally safe. 

At least now they could assign their fears to an actual threat. 

“So much for the romance of the open road,” Jaime laughed against his wife’s shoulder as she took the first watch. 

They had risked a small fire that they now huddled around, feeling more vulnerable than ever. Instead of putting up the tent, Brienne wrapped the fabric tightly around their shoulders in hope of keeping the warmth of their bodies close. Even with their horses practically on top of them to share the heat, they were miserably cold.

Thank the Gods they would be reaching the Great Wall in a day or two.

*

It was close to dusk when they snuck up on the large encampment outside of Castle Black. They had left their horses and gear hidden further back on the banks of a frozen river.

As they approached an overlook, the sound of a battle occurring below could be heard. On the outskirts of the Keep, they spied Tyrion and Jon Snow fighting more of the human-like creatures. Brienne and Jaime shared a look. 

Gods, just how many of those things were there? Jaime wanted to dash over and help them, but he knew better. Besides, it appeared as if they had it under control. 

He was impressed with his brother’s fighting skills. Tyrion was using his size to his advantage, striking low while Jon Snow struck high. 

As the skirmish raged below, they heard the men of the Black yelling, “White Walkers!” The name fit perfectly. 

Finally, the Night’s Watchmen, Stannis’ soldiers and the Wildings were able to drive back their wraith-like attackers. Jaime and Brienne stayed hidden and watched the men begin to burn their dead.

Jaime sighed. He feared it was worse than they could have imagined, and the strategist in him began to have doubts about their current agenda in the North. Killing Stannis now seemed like a tactical mistake. If there were more of those things out there, Baratheon’s troops needed to be strong, not divided and in disarray. His wench was not going to like what he was thinking of proposing.

Besides, even after seeing his brother fight, Jaime still worried for Tyrion’s safety in a battle to gain Winterfell. Though Tyrion was a good strategist, he was delicate. Jaime suspected Bronn’s rendition of events at the Battle of Blackwater had been embellished. After all, Tyrion had received that deep facial scar through reckless actions.

After disposing of the bodies, the men went back to what they were doing prior to the conflict. Being a former field commander, Jaime recognized what they were up to. “It looks like they were readying for deployment before they were attacked.”

Frowning, Brienne stared at those below them. “Against Winterfell?”

Jaime shrugged, watching Tyrion waddle into a tent close to their hiding place. “Possibly, or maybe against someone else. We’d better confer with my brother before we do anything now.”

Reluctantly, she nodded in agreement. 

Without another word, Jaime and Brienne began to sneak closer to the younger Lannister’s tent. 

Just as they were about to reach him, Jaime was suddenly overcome with a deep malaise. Brienne seemed to suffer similarly, and the two fell to weakened knees. Jaime tried to speak, but it was if the sound had been stolen from his throat.

Suddenly from the shadows, Stannis’ personal guards rushed forward and converged on them. Jaime blurrily recognized the burning stag of their enemy as the guards rained down vicious kicks and blows. A fearful Jaime watched Brienne fall beside him. Then the world went black. 

*

Jon and Tyrion had just killed off the last of the attackers. The White Walkers were growing bolder with their assaults and were coming at them more often. This was probably due to the sun setting earlier each day. Jon feared what would happen when winter finally arrived and the sun never rose again.

The Wildings and those of the Black joined Stannis’ men in dragging the bodies of their dead comrades and any twitching creatures onto a pile to burn. They had learned it best to do this as soon as possible.

As the two observed the corpses burning, Jon asked his smaller companion, “So, did you accept Stannis’ offer?”

Tyrion grinned good-naturedly. “It was either agree or be burned at the stake. I am afraid I make poor kindling. I am surprised, though, that you said ‘no’ to him and still lived.” 

Jon chuckled, amused at his friend’s words, and patted him on the shoulder. “I am afraid my calling is not to rule Winterfell.” 

He did not want to be beholden to ‘King’ Baratheon. His dislike for Stannis had only grown after the cantankerous man had ordered the Wilding leader Mance killed as an example to his clan followers. 

Unable to stop himself from teasing the somber young man, Tyrion whispered conspiratorially, “Well, I would watch out if I were you. I think that red witch likes you.” 

Jon dipped his head in acknowledgment and glanced away, embarrassed. 

Tyrion laughed, “You and your redheads.” He then sighed, clearly exhausted. “And now I think I will go back to my tent and get good and drunk. Let me know if they attack us again, my Lord Commander. Good night.” 

Jon grinned as the diminutive man toddled away towards his tent. It had taken some convincing, but Jon eventually believed that Lord Tyrion had nothing to do with the attempt on Bran’s life. Now they got along rather well.

As Tyrion went further into camp, Jon surveyed the carnage. In the beginning, they had lodged at Castle Black. But with the attacks coming more frequently, Jon wanted to be among his men.

It seemed that Stannis agreed to their locale change because he believed that it was safer in the middle of the camp. And since Jon and the small lord from Casterly Rock were now considered worthy of keeping alive, that was where they stayed. 

With an unconcerned smirk, Snow was sure Lord Stannis was going to give him an earful later for getting involved in this latest skirmish.

Unlike other leaders, Jon could not let his people fight without him. He was a firm believer in ruling by example and would rather do it himself than pressure others to do so for him. Sam had always insisted that a good commander should delegate, but Jon just preferred to do things his way.

Hopefully, the next time the White Walker’s attacked they would not get so close. Earlier that day, he had seen the red witch casting some ‘spell’ around the camp. He had hoped it was to alert them to the Others’ presence. But it seemed to have failed since it was the sentries that had first called out the alarm.

Jon watched Tyrion enter his tent across the camp. Frankly, he had been surprised at how well the small lord fit in with the men. He had become a valuable member of the Black. It was Tyrion’s humorous stories and expansive knowledge that had first won them over. And if anyone could talk their way out of getting killed by a Wight, Tyrion certainly could. In the meantime, Tyrion would meet with Sam every morning and they studied anything they could find in regards to the White Walkers. So far they had not found anything of much use. 

With a sigh, Jon started back to his tent when he heard a commotion. With a frown, he turned toward the din across the camp.

*

In his tent, Tyrion poured himself more wine and reflected on his current situation.

Though this was not the first time he had been to the Wall, any novelty had worn off in the first freezing hour. In the months of being here, he had made due, but he was miserable.

So after Snow had declined the offer, Tyrion could not help but greedily take Stannis’ proposal of being Lord of Winterfell. It was a tricky situation. When one joined the Black, they could never be free of it. But Stannis claimed that since he was the rightful King, he could do as he wished and would release Tyrion from his oaths. 

Tyrion hoped Stannis would keep his word. Though it was still cold at Winterfell, it seemed far safer than being at the Wall where those dreadful creatures so effortlessly attacked them. All he would have to do was bend a knee and promise to guard Stannis’ back. Over the years, he had been allied with worse.

Remarkably, Stannis had proven to be a rather good military tactician. The Boltons would never know what hit them. And then, after all the death and destruction of the siege against Winterfell was over, a triumphant Tyrion would ride up and take his place as the new Warden of the North. He could not have asked for a better plan. And if it meant no more literal ‘blue balls,' all hail King Stannis.

He smirked and lifted his half-full goblet up in salute. If the new King’s plans worked, he would be seated in Winterfell, ruling and wenching in no time! He really should send Jon a bottle of wine (or at least his favorite redhead) as thanks for declining the Stark’s ancestral home.

Snorting into his cup, Tyrion wondered how Stannis would react knowing that it was Tyrion’s clever strategy that had sunk most of Baratheon’s fleet during the Blackwater siege. Hopefully, he never would.

Sighing, Tyrion finished his wine. As he began to prepare for bed, he reflected that he should feel more grateful to his brother for the sacrifice he had made for him. But then, Jaime had an adoring wife and a warm castle to sleep in while Tyrion only had snow. He had to remind himself that anything was preferable to the coldness of death.

Though he did feel a tiny bit traitorous for going against his nephew, King Tommen, in regards to taking Winterfell. But, since his family seemed to have forgotten him, there was no need for him to feel too guilty…

Alright, maybe he felt a little remorseful towards his older brother who had helped him so much. Perhaps he would send Jaime and his new wife an invitation to visit Winterfell. Though, from what Tyrion recalled of oaths and vengeance, he had better make sure that his new sister-in-law was nowhere near King Stannis.

As Tyrion went to refill his goblet one last time, Jon rushed into his tent, breathless. “Your brother and his wife have been captured and are with Stannis as we speak.”

Startled from his thoughts, Tyrion replied, “Jaime is here?” 

Jon nodded, clearly flustered.

A fearful Tyrion dashed passed the Lord Commander and out into the cold.

“Do you need any help?” Jon called after him. 

Tyrion yelled over his shoulder, “No, thank you. Knowing my brother and the moods he gets in, best if I handle this alone.”

*

In the largest tent in the center of camp, Stannis’ personal guards dragged in the beaten and bloody Jaime and Brienne. The soldiers placed their confiscated weapons onto the large map table. The Valyrian blades took up most of the space. Jaime's shoulder harness and Brienne’s ornate dagger were also tossed next to them.

A bemused Stannis put away the book he was reading and stood up from his chair. He marched towards his captives and sneered, “Why, if it isn’t the two king slayers. I was wondering when you would arrive.” 

The Red Priestess Melisandre stood further back near the braziers and studied the pair in silence.

“You are the one who killed your brother!” Brienne exclaimed, “I saw your shadow kill him, Kinslayer!” 

Brienne threw herself at Stannis, but the guards easily held her back. With their hands tied in front and thick ropes binding them at the shoulders, there was no way Stannis’ captives could fight now. Besides, Melisandre could easily handle these beleaguered upstarts.

With a flick of his gaze, Stannis dismissed his guards. He addressed Brienne, “When I heard you had been exonerated of killing Renly, I had no doubt that you would seek revenge. I am surprised you were able to convince the Lannisters of your innocence.”

“My wife has more honor in her stubborn scowl than you will ever have in your pointy head, Stannis,” said Jaime. “Having to resort to trickery to stop us—”

Melisandre laughed. “Kingslayer, it was the one true God who told us that you would soon be arriving. And all it took was a simple incantation so that the moment you came into camp you would fall to darkness.”

Jaime ignored her. “You are a fool to put your beliefs into that false God, Stannis.”

“Actually, Lannister, you are the fool in thinking you can stop me. Though, I am surprised you made it this far. It is rather commendable.” After an insolent chuckle, he gazed over at the confiscated weapons on the table.

While Stannis considered one of the Valyrian swords, the red witch studied Brienne. “You have witnessed the true power of the Lord of Light, child. Do you still think you can win?”

Brienne refused to answer. Not bothering to glance over, Stannis called to her. “You are from the Isle of Tarth, Lady Brienne—you should be allied with me. I am next in line of succession. Renly never was.”

“You are not fit to be king,” Brienne spat. “You have no compassion. You burn your people alive!” 

An irritated Stannis ignored her, and his cold tone overrode anymore of her condemnations. “What an interesting device you use, Kingslayer.” 

His fingers grazed the soft leather harness, and he turned his attention to the cuff that covered Jaime’s stump. Grabbing the cold metal hand, Stannis violently twisted to help loosen it. It was a sick parody of Brienne’s gentle ministrations of just a few weeks before. After a few forceful yanks, the cuff pulled free. Jaime tried to cover his groan of pain with a cough.

Stannis tossed the cuff onto the table with the other weapons. “That is better.”

Focusing on the fleshy stump, he tapped the reddened, chafed stub, and Jaime hissed. Stannis smiled. He began to trace the various scars and puckered flesh with his trimmed nails. He dug his nails into Jaime’s stump, gouging out small ribbons of flesh. Jaime refused to make a sound, but he grew paler by the minute.

Unable to help himself, Jaime growled, “I see your hosting skills are on par with your eldest brother. Tell me, Lord Stannis, is this rude behavior bred in your family?”

“That is, ‘Your Grace.’” Stannis whispered and viciously squeezed the stump.

Seeing her husband suffer, Brienne pleaded, “Stop! Please stop!” 

A sweating and gasping Jaime shook his head at her, willing her to not interfere. Brienne knew that he was being brave and trying not to cry out. Still, she exhaled when Stannis finally lessened his hold on her husband’s ruined wrist. Jaime sagged against her, and she wished she could strangle Stannis right now. 

Stannis focused his beady eyes on hers. “First, you will rescind your accusations against me.”

Brienne flinched when Stannis’ smile became a threatening grin. “With your exoneration by those damn connivers,” he emphasized his irritation by once more squeezing Jaime’s stump, “many of my new constituents are asking discerning questions about my brother’s death. For all purposes, I think it would be best if they went back to believing that Renly’s death was due to a rogue Rainbow guard.”

Defiantly, Brienne tilted her chin at him. Her obvious refusal had Baratheon once more contemplating Jaime’s stump with dubious attention. She looked worriedly from Stannis to her grimacing husband. 

Jaime shook his head at her, silently telling her not to give in to Stannis’ wishes. Making sure he caught her stalwart gaze, Jaime smiled in an attempt to mollify her. Brienne glowered but indicated with a slight head bob that she would stand firm.

Smirking at their exchange, Stannis began to crush Jaime’s stump again, this time, more forceful.

Gasping, Jaime groaned out, “Stannis, listen to me. We should be working together.”

His wench’s sudden, piercing stare made him falter for a moment. Jaime focused on telling his reasons to her first. He pleaded with his eyes that she understand and forgive him.

Stannis let up on the pressure just a bit so Jaime could continue. 

“With those things out there,” Jaime hissed, “those White Walkers, we have to work together. If we combine my Casterly Rock troops with yours, we can—”

Jaime suddenly realized his error as Stannis’ calculating gaze now studied him closely. “Yes, Lannister, your troops would help me against many threats, not just the White Walkers. And your father would dare not try anything with his heir as my hostage.”

Brienne’s anger over her husband’s betrayal ebbed to concern when the red witch began to circle around her. She did not appreciate the predatory gleam in the older woman’s eyes. The witch stopped in front of her and smirked knowingly.

Her apprehension was diverted back to her husband when Jaime suddenly let out a whimper and then moaned in pain. Now Stannis was roughly gripping the ruined flesh tighter until blood seeped out of the tip of the stump.

Though she was upset at her husband, Brienne would protect him with her life. “Leave him be!” 

She went to lunge at Stannis when the witch stilled her with a hand held up in warning.

Stannis eyed her. “Oh, I will, Lady Brienne. But first, he must do something for me.”

“What do you want, Stannis?” Jaime ground out. He eyed the Red Priestess, who was looking between the two Lannisters, intrigued.

Stannis clutched the damaged wrist harder, and Jaime’s eyes snapped back to him. “I need you to sign a contract stating that you abdicate Casterly Rock and all its resources to me.”

Jaime scoffed and shook his head. “That will never happen. Do as you like to us, but you will not get that from me.”

The witch suddenly reached out as if to caress Brienne’s stomach. “Or so you think, Kingslayer. What if something more precious was threatened?” 

With a triumphant smile, Melisandre turned to Stannis and crooned, “The giantess is with child.” 

Brienne’s anger fled and was swiftly replaced with confusion. 

“It will be a strong child,” the red witch continued, “Just like its parents.” 

Brienne exchanged a concerned look with her husband. Catching the silent conversation, the witch leaned back, amused. “You did not know?”

“It’s not possible,” Brienne explained. “I have been drinking Moon Tea.” 

The witch’s melodious answer was laced with false pity. “So you have been led to believe... Perhaps someone switched your brew for a more fertile blend?”

Jaime cursed loudly. Twyin Lanniser. Of course, the man would stoop to trickery to ensure an heir. 

Wincing at the implications, Brienne stuttered, “H-how was I supposed to know what the tea tasted like? I had never had it before.”

Stannis chuckled at his good luck. “Well, Lannister, it seems as if your capitulation now encompasses your heir as well.”

Jaime glanced over to his wife, and she, in turn, registered the tiredness in his eyes. This was the last threat. She knew he could not risk losing his child, too.

Exhaling, Jaime struggled to stand taller and addressed Stannis. “You swear you will free us?”

“No, but I can guarantee that you will not be harmed.” Stannis smugly looked between them. “Of course, you will have to bend a knee.” 

Brienne gritted her teeth. She wished she could wipe that arrogant smile off that bastards face.

“In the meantime, you… three will be my guests,” Stannis told them, glancing at Brienne’s stomach. He looked back at Jaime.   
“But first, you must sign a document pledging your fidelity.”

Defeated, Jaime nodded. 

Stannis went to his desk in the corner of the tent and pulled a contract out from the top drawer. Carrying it over, he explained to Jaime, “I had this drafted once Melisandre informed me that the two of you were coming. All I need is your mark, my Lord. The other caveats will be filled in later as necessary.”

After placing the document on the nearby table, Stannis used Brienne’s ornate dagger to cut away the ropes that bound Jaime’s arms to his side.

For once, Jaime was happy that his left-handed signature was so illegible. He could always claim to his father that the mark was not his.

As Stannis meticulously prepped the quill with ink, Jaime quipped, “What, no chair for your new ally? After this, my wife and I would like food and drink. Oh, and I would like to see my brother.”

Stannis thrust the ink and quill at Jaime. He answered sternly, “I told you that you would be well taken care of.”

Jaime took his time reading the contract. “Does it say here ‘Custardy Rack’?”

Frustrated, Stannis slammed his hand down on the table, nearly spilling the ink. “It could say anything I damn well want it to say! Now sign it!” 

Jaime overheard Stannis grumble under his breath, “Damn you conniving Lannisters. At least with the Rock under my thumb, I can win this blasted land.”

“And just think; now you have two Lannister brothers to contend with.” Jaime merrily stated.

As the two men bickered, Brienne spied Melisandre’s calculating stare at her stomach. 

This only drove home the point that she was with child. Brienne reeled at the thought. She wanted to deny it and hoped the witch was wrong. But it did explain the various issues that she had just assumed were due to the stress of marriage and their current taxing adventure—the exhaustion, the nausea at sea. She rarely paid attention to her monthly bleeding, but even now she could not recall when she had last bled. 

With an exhale, Brienne accepted that it must be true. But she did not have the luxury of time to think it over. If they got out of Stannis’ camp alive, then she would focus on the idea of motherhood. 

Motherhood... 

Now it was the strident determination that the witch should not have their child that overwhelmed Brienne. Rumor had it that the red witch used the blood of royalty to heighten her powers. Brienne feared that, in desperation, the witch would take her child’s life when there were no other options available. Her baby would not be used as some catalyst in an awful bid to help Stannis. A savage and primal urge to protect her unborn child suddenly overcame her. 

Unaware of the turmoil coursing through the larger woman’s thoughts, the witch touched Brienne’s abdomen and murmured silently to herself, as if she were casting a spell.

Brienne struggled angrily against her bonds, trying to break free. Frustrated, she felt rage overpowering her sanity. All she knew was that the witch was trying to form words to cast a deadly spell. She was sure of it.

Looking up, Melisandre noticed the shift in the giantess’s blue eyes. It was as if a storm had rolled in. 

Without her arms free, Brienne’s body was her only weapon. Before the witch could step back, Brienne slammed her forehead into Melisandre’s face. 

Advancing on the bleeding witch, Brienne head-butted her once more. Fleetingly, she heard her husband and Stannis exchange sharp words, then the sound of a loud punch landing as Jaime shoved his hand and stump into Stannis’ throat. 

Suddenly, an outraged Melisandre brandished a dagger from the sash of her dress and lunged at Brienne.

Brienne no longer registered what was going on behind her. When the witch lashed out with her weapon, Brienne side-stepped the attack and once more bludgeoned her head into the other woman’s. This time, it was so forceful that her ears rang from the impact. 

Ignoring her own dizziness, Brienne dodged Melisandre’s last, desperate swing of the dagger. She rammed the crown of her head into the red witch’s face. There was a sharp burst of pain where her head crashed into the woman’s face, but she disregarded the ache.

Finally, the witch sank to the floor, dazed. Brienne used her only other available weapon, her booted foot. With one solid kick to the ruined face, the force of the action was strong enough to snap Melisandre’s neck. 

With the witch dead and her bloodlust cooling, Brienne was surprised and horrified by her own brutality. Blood dripped into her eyes, and she felt guilt suffuse her aching limbs. No one, not even the woman partially responsible for Renly’s death, deserved such savagery. 

The clamor behind Brienne broke through her self-reproach, and she turned to see Stannis grappling with Jaime. Stannis had been unable to call out for help. Brienne hoped the guards continued to accept their grunts and blows as whatever religious perversion that normally occurred in this tent.

Staggering over, Brienne saw that Jaime had been fighting with only her ornate dagger clutched in his hand. Stannis had Oathkeeper and was trying to slash Jaime down.

She barked out a warning, “Jaime!”

Hoping her husband was as quick as ever, she ran and slammed into Stannis’ unguarded back. Jaime was fast and dodged past the Valyrian steel blade aimed at him.

Stannis stuttered in surprise at the dagger embedded deep in his chest. It had been his forward momentum that had enabled Jaime to shove the weapon into his heart.

The would-be king gaped as Jaime sneered into the dying man’s eyes. “Consider this a debt paid,” he said and pushed the dagger to the hilt. “Kinslayer.”

When Jaime pulled the dagger free, Stannis sank to the floor, motionless. Jaime used the short blade to cut the rope that bound Brienne’s arms to her sides and she did likewise for him.

They stared at the blood and mayhem around them. Jaime could not stop himself from wincing at the witch’s destroyed features.  
Glancing at his wife, Jaime noticed that Brienne was gingerly picking bits of gore from the crown of her head. He had a feeling most of it was not her own blood. Though Jaime had been upset that his wife attacked the red witch, he did understand her reasons. Their child—their child!—had been endangered. Even he could tell that the witch had been up to no good.

He tenderly ran his hand against her bloody temple. “Remind me never to piss you off, wife.”

She winced and leaned into his touch. “I have not killed you yet, husband.”

“I wish we had time to celebrate our victories,” he murmured.

They shared a quick kiss, and Jaime caressed her stomach. Unlike the witch’s touch, his felt right.

“We will just have to finish this later,” Brienne responded. Jaime grinned cockily, and she resisted the urge to box his ears.

Suddenly, Jaime leaned against the table and grimaced. Brienne began to worry that his injuries were worse than he was letting on.

She lifted her husband’s chin so she could look him in the eyes. “Are you alright?”

Rocking out of her grip, Jaime ground out through clenched teeth, “Never better.”

Actually, Jaime felt awful. His bloodied stump hurt like hell and throbbed mercilessly. And Stannis had nicked him with Oathkeeper. Blood soaked through his clothes from the gash in his side.

Not believing him as he swayed before her, Brienne asked, “Can you walk?”

He held his stump tight against his bloody side. “Lead the way, wench.”

Jaime only made it two steps before his vision began to gray. With a groan, he sank into a nearby chair. Brienne wanted to curse him for his obstinacy. Instead, she gritted her teeth and searched about for something to bind his wounds with.

Finding some clean cloth, she quickly wrapped up his stump and then put pressure on the injury to his side. The laceration was a deep cut, and now she feared the worst.

Hearing the noise of someone approaching the tent, Brienne pulled Oathkeeper free. If this was to be their end, she vowed she would take them all with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this.
> 
> I appreciate all your comments and kudos.
> 
> And a big shout out of thanks to Bergamot, who really helped me punch up the fight against the wight.


	3. Escape

Tyrion stumbled through the tent opening as if he were drunk. He held a half-full wine cup in hand, and his voice was cautiously upbeat. “Lord Stannis, I heard you had caught my brother and his lady—” 

He stopped abruptly when he noticed the two bloody corpses in the center of the tent.

Before he could think to call out, the sharp tip of a sword was aimed at his eye.

Startled, Tyrion looked up—and up—into the steel blue eyes of Brienne of Tarth. “My lady?”

“Brienne.” 

Tyrion swiveled his eyes away from the blade. Jaime stood in a corner of the tent, clutching his side and clearly wounded.   
Jaime hoarsely called to his wife again and beckoned her back to his side. Reluctantly she retreated to him, but her blade remained pointed at the smaller lord.

Jaime reached over and brushed his fingertips up and down his wife’s arm as if to calm her. 

“It is alright, wench,” said Jaime. His crooked grin clashed against the sickly pallor of his skin. “Hello, baby brother.”

Tyrion let all pretenses of being drunk vanish. Now he grew concerned as he studied his injured brother. “And here I was coming to rescue you, brother.” He focused on Brienne, “How bad is it?”

Refusing to answer him, Brienne instead sheathed her blade and hovered over Jaime protectively. It was obvious that she was now more worried than ever for her weakening husband.

As she led him back over to the chair, Jaime glanced up at her. “He will not turn on us, wife.” 

Though she still scowled at the smaller man, Brienne went back to dressing Jaime’s wounds. “He needs a maester.”

Jaime muttered to Brienne, “Love, I do not think our enemies will help us now.” He fought to focus his gaze on Tyrion, “Though it is good to see you, brother, we must hurry before we are discovered. We need to talk to you about taking back Winterfell.”

Tyrion grunted and fought the urge to rub at this tired features vigorously. “I hardly think I can now since you killed my best means of doing so.” He glanced meaningfully over at Stannis’ body. With Stannis dead, he had no idea on how he could help his older brother.

Looking up from Jaime’s wounds, Brienne snapped impatiently, “There’s another way.” 

The smaller lord was in no mood to be castigated in such a manner. “What, my lady? Are you going to magically resurrect Stannis? Oh wait, you can’t since you killed his Red Witch as well.”

“We have your wife.” 

“Sansa?” Tyrion’s eyes grew wide in surprise. He looked from Brienne to his brother.

“Yes,” said Jaime, wincing as Brienne cinched a bandage around his abdomen. “I know it will be dangerous, but we need you to lead Stannis’ troops to take back Winterfell for her.”

Tyrion tried to hide his horrified expression, but after Blackwater, he had become fearful about commanding others. Though he believed he was a good enough leader, he had a bad time of it during that siege. He touched his facial scar self-consciously. 

Tyrion shook his head. “You know father is never going to approve of this. It will be a disapproval of at least twenty thousand soldiers, if I remember correctly.”

Brienne snorted.

“If you rule Winterfell with Sansa,” said Jaime tiredly, “he will not have the right to invade. You would be the Lord and Lady of the North by right. He could not deny you then.”

“Well, I am afraid that once you killed Stannis, you ruined my ability to leave the Black, thus take the place beside my wife.”   
Tyrion folded his arms across his chest.

Jaime’s gaze flicked over to the table where his fake hand was. “Brienne?” 

She snatched the metal hand up. After a quick twist, it popped free from the cuff. Within the hollow section, there was a piece of paper that she fished out. 

Brienne handed it to Tyrion. “That is yours. No commitment required.” 

As Tyrion read it, Jaime explained its significance. “Regardless of your pledge, you should not be punished for a crime you did not commit. Your nephew seemed to agree and signed that paper clearing you of your obligations to the Black. I assured Tommen that I would take the blame when father confronts him about it.” 

The diminutive man could tell that Jaime was worried for his son. Tywin would not take well to the King going behind his back.   
Tyrion’s smile was heartfelt as he read the paper. His brother always tried to help him as best he could. Maybe there was a way he could assist them without getting killed in the process.

He heard Brienne take a deep, calming breath. As she loudly exhaled, she asked, “So will you help us?” 

Tyrion sighed and went over to the table to pour more wine into his cup. He saw Jaime sink lower in his chair and filled a cup up for him, too. A restorative was just what his brother needed, plus it would buy him some time as he thought of options.

Brienne had finished bandaging Jaime’s wounds and she stared, disheartened, as blood began to seep through the cloth. She glanced around the tent hopefully, “Do you see any thread, anything I could use to stitch up his wounds?”

Approaching them, Tyrion handed the wine cup to Jaime. “I am afraid not, my lady.”

Jaime frowned at the contents and took a tentative sip. He exhaled in relief and took another drink. 

Tyrion grumbled, “This would have gone so much easier if you had not killed Stannis.” 

Near her limit, Brienne exclaimed, “I am sorry we did not have a chance to check with you but we did have our unborn child’s life to think about!” 

Tyrion started. He studied Brienne’s frustrated expression and then turned to his brother. “A child, already? Why, you sly lion… You must tell me how you accomplished such a feat in so short a time frame.” 

“Enough, my lord,” growled Brienne, standing to loom over him.

Tyrion smirked over the rim of his cup. “Well congratulations, brother.” After taking a sip, he peered disapprovingly up at Brienne. “Though Lady Brienne, I hardly think that it is a good idea to bully the one who is going to help you.”

She relented and returned to Jaime’s side. As she checked on her drowsy husband, she addressed Tyrion through gritted teeth, “So you will do it?”

The diminutive man shrugged. “I would, but the problem is that Stannis’ men will not follow just anyone. His Hand, Ser Davos, is most likely to take up that mantle, and he is more interested in hunting down White Walkers than any usurper at Winterfell.”

Jaime’s head jerked up and he grinned at his brother. “But I bet you could convince him to carry on with Stannis’ orders.”

Tyrion shook his head. “I may have his ear, but it is Jon Snow who has his respect.”

“Yes, we saw him. Surprised Stannis let him live.” 

“He runs the Night’s Watch now. I was not Stannis’ first choice for Winterfell. But it seems Snow would rather be Lord Commander than rule his ancestral home.” Tyrion shrugged and took another sip of wine.

Jaime grimaced suddenly. Despite the pain, he aimed a confident grin at his brother. Tyrion gulped at the sight for it usually meant trouble. 

Wary, the small lord listened as his brother commanded, “Go and get the Lord Commander, brother.”

Brienne clenched her husband’s shoulder in warning. Jaime smiled drunkenly up at her. “I know, I know, but we have no choice, wench.”

Frowning, Tyrion went to the entrance and poked his head out of the tent. He called over to some guards, “King Stannis would like to see Jon Snow immediately!” 

As his orders were being carried out, Tyrion poured himself another cup of wine. Noticing how much paler Jaime was getting, he also refilled his brother’s cup.

Suddenly, Jon rushed in. He all but skidded to a halt when he took in the bloodied Lannisters. 

His surprise turned to anger when he spied the two dead on the floor. “You killed the King! What have you done?”

Tyrion snorted, “I know, huh?”

Before Jon could retreat or call out for help, Brienne was barring his path. The sharp blade of Oathkeeper was raised threateningly before her.

Jaime’s voice was raspy from the pain, “Relax Snow. We have need of your help. We want you to lead Stannis’ soldiers and retake Winterfell.” He took a gulp of the wine, and it seemed to help abate some of the discomforts for now.

The Lord Commander crossed his arms. If the large, mannish woman with the deadly sword had not been so close, Jon might have killed Jaime on the spot for what he had done to his brother, Bran. 

Instead, he sneered, “I am afraid not, Lord Lannister. My place is at the Wall.”

Jaime nodded weakly. “Then do it for your sister.”

The anger bled from Jon’s form. “Arya?”

Registering Jaime’s failing strength, Brienne interrupted, “No, she is in Braavos. My husband speaks of the Lady Sansa. She is hiding out at the Cerwyn homestead, waiting for word on when it is safe to come home to Winterfell.”

Jon took a moment to think. He feared the giantess was going to punch him if he did not hurry up. He exhaled. “If what you say is true, then yes, I will lead Stannis’ troops and the Wildings to retake Winterfell.”

Jaime stopped mid-sip of wine. “I hardly think you will need that many. Bolton has only a few hundred troops housed there. Just some sellswords and little Freys hanging around looking sad and pathetic.”

Treating Jaime as if he were simple, Jon said slowly, “Stannis was concerned with reinforcements from the Dreadfort.”

Jaime groaned in frustration and the cup he had been holding clunked loudly onto the table.

Tyrion could not contain the grimace that graced his lips. “Yes, brother, you seemed to have forgotten about the Boltons’ impregnable ancestral home. There is the possibility that it is filled with thousands of loyalists and sellswords.”

Jon sneered as he added, “I will also need enough men to defend against your father. He will inevitably send troops in light of Stannis’ death.” 

Jon could not believe that the Lannisters would want to help his family out of the goodness of their hearts; not after all the hell they had already put his family, though. No, they were up to something. He knew it.

“There is no reason to fear—,” Jaime waved his bloodied hand.

Brienne spoke over her slurring husband, her gaze piercing as she vehemently said, “That is why Tyrion would co-rule with Sansa. That will keep Lord Tywin away.”

“I hardly think that will work,” Jon protested. 

“Tyrion is still married to the Lady Sansa,” Brienne reminded him quickly. “The Hand would have to accept it, and leave you alone.”

Jaime’s leaned his head against Brienne’s arm and tiredly stated, “Besides, my father would never send troops this far north. Trust me; this area is too remote for his needs.”

Jon nodded in contemplation. “And you say my sister wants to do this?”

“Yes, and she is ready to take command of Winterfell, but first, you need to get it for her.” Jaime sloppily pushed the half-full cup away that his brother was now trying to force on him.

Concerned, Tyrion said, “Let me send for a healer, Jaime. You are half dead as it is.”

Jaime shook his head. “I do not want anyone else brought in here; it’s already too suspicious to the guards. Besides, my wife has treated me well.”

“Jaime,” Brienne warned, “I think we should do as your brother suggests.”

He glared at her, “Do not make me wrestle you for the final vote in this, Brienne. We need to leave as soon as possible.”

Though upset at his stubbornness, she acquiesced.

After much thought, Jon sighed loudly. “Your plan might work, but I need to see my sister for myself. For all I know, this is just a ruse to put your brother in control.” 

“Fair enough.” Jaime stood on shaky legs. “We will head to Lord Cerwyn’s homestead and will let her know to expect you.”   
Brienne had already grabbed a cloak for Jaime and was draping it across his shoulders. 

Jon shook his head. “No, I will go with you now.”

“Should you not be preparing Stannis’ troops to march against Winterfell?” Asked Tyrion worriedly.

“We are going to have to postpone the assault until I get back. Once I confirm that Sansa is in agreement and that this is not some trick, I will lead them for you. For now, get them ready for battle.”

Tyrion frowned, “But Davos will not listen without you or Stannis backing me up. Since these plans concern my wellbeing, I should come with you as well.” It was obvious that he was nervous about the leadership position.

Exasperated, Jaime grumbled, “Neither of you can go with us. It would be too suspicious. Wait a week and then convince Davos that you need to go on a peace-seeking mission to Winterfell. While your men await the outcome of your expedition, you will make your way to Cerwyn and Sansa instead.” 

Tyrion and Jon frowned at him and then began to argue to one another about possible scenarios. While they squabbled, Brienne went to refill Jaime’s wine goblet, but he swiped his hand over the opening. “Are you trying to get me drunk, wench?”

“It will help with the pain.” Jaime snorted, and she continued, “You do not want to be awake when I carry you over my shoulder.”

His stood up straight, indignant. “You will do no such thing.” 

But after a wince, he sunk back into his chair and drank the wine anyway.

Brienne waited impatiently while Jon and Tyrion bickered. She knew that Jaime would not agree to leave before their plans were finalized. When his eyes drooped, and his head lulled to the side, the time had come to be on their way. Stalking over to Jon and Tyrion, her glare silenced them.

She demanded, “My lords, we are in agreement.” It was not a question.

Jon nodded and Tyrion said, “Yes, we will meet you at Cerwyn’s homestead.”

Without another word, Brienne strode to the back of the tent and used her ornate dagger to slash an opening there. Then she gathered their belongings from the table and shoved Jaime’s brace, cuff and metal hand into a bag. When she assisted Jaime to his feet, again, he teetered unsteadily on them.

Though he could barely walk in a straight line, Jaime refused to be carried like a sack of potatoes. He drunkenly smacked her hands away and swayed for a moment before he staggered towards the new exit.

Before they left Jon and Tyrion behind, Jaime commanded through gritted teeth as he clutched his side, “Give us an hour and then alert the guards. Any longer and you might implicate yourselves. Then we will see you at Lord Cerwyn’s—”

“Soon.” Brienne interrupted. She knew it would take a while for them to get to Moat Cailin. Jaime bobbed his head in agreement and disappeared through the slit in the tent, Brienne close on his heels.

Tyrion stared worriedly at their retreating forms. He hissed to them, though he doubted they could hear him, “Fine, we will continue organizing for an attack and then meet you down there.”

After making sure they had enough time to flee the area, Tyrion said in a loud voice, “Then we will leave you to it, King Stannis!”

He and Jon exited the front of the tent. As he passed the curious guards who stood several paces away from the tent, Tyrion explained, “The King and his witch wish to have some privacy with their new toys.”

The guards nodded, mollified. No one wanted to get on the bad side of the Red Priestess.

*

Brienne half-carried, half-dragged Jaime towards the spot where their horses were hidden. Unbridled thoughts of being pregnant warred against her need to get them to safety. She also worried for her wounded husband, who gasped with every step they took.

Disgruntled, Jaime soon pushed himself away from her. She allowed him to stumble along on his own for a time, her gaze never leaving his lurching form. And he claimed she was stubborn! He weaved along a makeshift trail, using the early night sky as illumination. At least he knew the right direction to head in.

They were nearly there when Jaime tripped over a concealed tree root and crashed to the ground. Now Brienne saw that the injury on his side had begun to weep out more blood, and he could not get up. She glanced around, listening for the threat of possible discovery. 

Jaime struggled to stand, and she rested a hand on his back to calm him. Hearing nothing but the river nearby, she applied pressure to Jaime’s side and tried to rebind the wound. He hissed weakly in pain and tried to push her hands away.

“Stop it, Jaime,” she whispered harshly. Unable to fight her, he fell back against the snow.

Not wanting to be captured again, she grabbed his barely conscious body. When she heaved him over her large shoulders like a sack of grain, she tried not to jostle his wound too much. As Brienne began to jog, Jaime groaned quietly into her shoulder.

Just before they reached their horses, she heard the sound of movement nearby. Ducking into the shadows, she saw that some of Stannis’ men had found their mounts and were now fanning out to look for their riders. Word should not have reached anyone about their King’s murder. These men must be regular scouts. Brienne counted them; there were too many for her to take down on her own.

Making a desperate decision, Brienne slipped away with Jaime. They headed south along the river bank, away from their horses. It was a risk to do this, for they would not survive long without mounts and provisions, but they could not allow to be caught. 

Even the cloaks she had stolen from Stannis’ tent would not afford them much protection from the cold. Already, the chill of the evening was turning towards freezing. She hoped she would be able to get them far enough before the elements did them both in. 

Snow began to fall, making the river bank slippery. At least the snow would cover up most of her tracks. Mindful of her footing, Brienne waded across the river and headed into the trees. The fear of detection spurred her on, and she tried to ignore the crisp pain of the chilled air as it settled through her soaked clothes. 

With the adrenaline wearing off, she began to shiver from the cold. Also, the beating she and Jaime had taken earlier by Stannis’s personal guards added to the aches that seemed to get worse with every step she took. 

Eventually, she had to take a break, so she stopped and leaned the unconscious Jaime against a tree. He was so pale, and though his breathing was shallow, he was still alive. Brienne planned to keep going, but the temperature was dropping dangerously. Besides, she was exhausted, and now the top of her head was throbbing, too. As she ran her hand delicately over her scalp, she felt the damage that she had received from her fight against Melisandre.

That was all she needed, infection from that damn witch! 

Looking around, it appeared as if either luck or the Gods were on their side. Brienne vaguely recognized the area they were in. Quickly getting her bearings, she trudged towards a clump of trees. Rounding the tall spires of pine, she spied the old homestead that they had stayed in the previous night.

Brienne staggered towards the back of the cabin. This time, they would stay in the barn. It would be a better place to hide should there be any scouts hunting them down tonight, though she doubted that would occur, for the snow was falling thickly. Still, it was better not to press their luck.

Nudging open the barn door with her boot, she cautiously peered inside. When she was sure there was nothing hiding in the shadows, Brienne entered. She set Jaime down near a pile of old straw. After settling her cloak over it, she pulled him onto the musty feed. Quickly, she dropped to her knees and checked the bandages around his wounds.

He was in worse shape than she had realized. His stump was a bloody mess, and the long cut on his side would not stop bleeding. Jaime’s groan of pain nearly broke her heart, but otherwise, he did not respond. After tucking the other cloak over him, she buried him in straw in hopes of shielding him from the cold.

She wanted to start a fire but dared not. There was still a chance that the smoke would attract any devoted pursuers who were willing to risk the freezing temperatures to find them.

Brienne wished she could stay sentry over her husband the entire night, but she was too fatigued. Regardless, if they were discovered, she knew they would not be able to escape alive. And if that were the case, she would at least make it difficult on whomever found them.

Wearily, she lay next to Jaime’s shivering, moaning form. Curling up behind him, she draped her large form over his non-wounded side. After settling flush against him, she dragged the extra straw over herself.

Whispering into his ear, she urgently begged her husband, “You must live, Jaime. I need you. And so does our child.”

His weak groans seemed to abate somewhat, and he snuggled closer into the heat of her.

As she shut her eyes, thoughts of the baby growing in her belly flittered madly about her mind. She was both joyous and scared. She worried at how quickly everything was changing for her—for them both. Tenderly, she kissed Jaime’s forehead and pulled him tighter to herself. Soon, she was asleep.

*

An hour after his brother’s departure, Tyrion strolled nonchalantly back into Stannis’ tent. Counting to three, he shrieked and feigned horror at finding the bodies inside. When the guards did not respond, he rushed out of the tent and yelled at them, “Sound the alarm! They have killed our King!”

After the alarm had been sounded, Davos was the first to the tent. He shoved past Tyrion and stumbled in misery at finding his King dead. His vehemence was so strong that he pledged to those who hovered nearby, “I shall have revenge for my King!”   
Quickly, he ordered to the guards, “Find those two prisoners! I want them brought back here alive to pay for what they did! Burning would be too kind a death.”

Davos turned to Stannis’ body and cursed. “I told him not to trust what that witch said about those Lannisters being easy prey.” He looked up and stared accusatory at Tyrion.

Tyrion studied the bereaved man in front of him, his hands out in a placating gesture. “Well I had nothing to do with this, my Lord Hand,” he replied.

Looking defeated, Davos whispered, “I no longer have a king to follow.”

“No,” Tyrion gently reminded him, “but you do still have your King’s orders to retake Winterfell from Roose Bolton.” 

A morose Davos did not answer, and Tyrion worried that the Lord Hand would not follow through on his king’s last wishes.   
Instead, Davos knelt beside Stannis and took his king’s hand in his, his head bowed. Not wanting to interrupt the man’s grieving, Tyrion left the tent. 

Outside, the guards scurried around to carry out their new orders of finding the escaped prisoners. Tyrion reflected that he and Jon still had a lot of work to do in the weeks’ time before they left. He worriedly glanced to the South and hoped that Jaime and Brienne could get to safety in time.

*

That night, Brienne fell in and out of a fitful sleep. She had tried to keep one ear on Jaime’s breathing and another on any possible approaching horses, but exhaustion overwhelmed her.

She woke up tired. Reverently touching her stomach; at least now she knew why she felt so drained. Brienne could not believe they were going to be parents, that she would soon be a mother. She could not help the small grin that continued to fight against her usual dour features. The sense of uncertainty if this is what she truly wanted pushed forward. Could she be both a warrior and a mother? 

With a loud sigh, she bartered with herself that these underlying feelings would need to be examined soon, just not now.   
Brienne turned her head to watch Jaime sleeping. She knew that he’d had a rough night, but he seemed to be more restful now. Alas, they could not stay in the barn past sunrise, so Brienne forced herself to get up.

Although she had wrapped both cloaks around Jaime, he still shivered violently. A slight sheen of sweat on his forehead gave her pause, and she feared that a fever was setting in. Worried, she carried his semiconscious body outside into the cold morning. At least it had stopped snowing during the night.

Knowing they did not have many options, she walked them to the small road outside of the homestead. She soon found a spot on the side of the path that was perfect for her needs. If they were to survive any longer in these freezing elements, they would need to acquire horses and supplies. She assumed that the pursuing scouts would be on horseback and should be nearing their area eventually. She would use that to her advantage.

Brienne set Jaime down on the snow bank and leaned him up against a tree. After making sure his shuddering form was tightly wrapped in the two cloaks, she cleared the ground and built a fire next to him. Once it got going, she tossed some heavy pine branches onto the fire. Plumes of smoke billowed upwards. Not wanting to rely on luck alone; she would draw the scouts to them with fire. 

Though Brienne did not want to risk Jaime’s life, in her current condition she would need trickery for her surprise attack to succeed.

The thought of using another Lannister as bait seemed to be a theme of hers. Unfortunately, there was a chance that the smoke might draw too many scouts. She knew she would never be able to fight them all. But with the state her husband was in (and, she admitted, herself), none of it would matter if she didn’t procure horses for them soon.

Taking her ornate dagger from her boot, she tucked it into Jaime’s belt. Stroking her hand along his bearded cheek, she kissed his fevered brow. Jaime’s glazed eyes opened, and he smiled feebly up at her. His dazed expression denoted that he did not truly comprehend what was going on. As she stood to go, he cried out and made to grab her. She quickly kneeled by him, and he quieted down.

“It is alright, love,” she crooned.

She caressed his damp forehead until his eyes fell shut and he slept. With a worried sigh, she stood.

This might not have been the smartest plan, but she went with her gut when it came to necessary action. Brienne unsheathed both of their Valyrian blades. Hefting one in each hand, she was grateful that she had practiced the two-handed fighting style with Jaime back in King’s Landing. 

The blades felt heavier than usual, and she held them loosely at her sides. She must have been weaker than she thought. She promised herself that she would make the attack quick. But if the same bloodlust that came over her in Stannis’ tent returned to her now, that would be more than enough.

It did not help that she felt as if her emotions were prickling the top layer of her skin. Thankfully, being active also helped her focus. She gripped the handles of the blades tighter. Shivering, she ducked behind the trees to wait.

*

Jaime awoke to the sound of horses nearing and a fire crackling nearby. He frowned, trying to make out the five blurry silhouettes that maneuvered through the snow toward him. They dismounted, and as the others stood guard, two of the horsemen cautiously approached him.

When it was clear that Jaime was in no shape to move, one of the horsemen poked him with the side of his boot. “Looks like the giantess just left him here.”

“Might as well have,” said the other, studying the shuddering man at his feet. “He does not look as if he is going to last the day.”   
“We should kill him now before he becomes a White Walker,” another hissed, glancing at the trees around them.

The one by Jaime’s side admonished his comrade. “Ser Davos did not say anything about killing.”

The second horseman sighed, clearly frustrated. “Alright,” he amended, “we tie him on a horse. Then we look for the woman.”

As they dragged Jaime to one of the horses, they suddenly heard the unmistakable shriek of whistling steel. Brienne crashed out of the underbrush. Her two Valyrian swords sliced through the air, severing a horseman’s head from his body. The four remaining scout’s gaped as the furious giantess whirled into the group as if she were the Warrior incarnate.

Through his hazy vision, Jaime watched Brienne brutally dispatch two of the scouts. The horses screamed and threw their riders. Brienne’s blades were a blur of silver and red. 

While Brienne hacked at the fourth scout, the last scout hurried away from Jaime and raised his sword to take out Brienne from her blind left side.

Wide-eyed, Jaime realized that she would never be able to defend herself in time!

Jaime fumbled for the dagger at his belt and then lunged and drove it into the scout’s foot. The man yelped in surprise and pain. He hopped around for a moment before Oathkeeper and Widow’s Wail cleaved him in two pieces. Brienne drew an arm across her face, panting, and then wiped the blades off and sheathed them.

Rolling onto his back, Jaime cackled. “My beautiful, blood thirsty angel,” he cooed. She ignored him as she stamped out the smoky fire.

Brienne ripped the cloak off of one of the corpses to wrap around her shoulders. Next, she tied two horses to the largest of the mounts. While scavenging the scouts for supplies, one thankfully had a small medical pack and a satchel of food that she confiscated. After grabbing anything else that could be of use, she turned her attention back to her delirious husband. 

His fevered grin was a sick parody of the mirthful one he usually had for her. “Well done, wench.”

“Thanks for the assist, Ser,” she growled as she picked him up and hoisted him onto the lead horse. She got on behind him, holding him tight against her chest, and wrapped the confiscated cloak around them both.

Jaime groaned in her embrace, still in pain.

“Do not give up, Jaime,” she said fiercely. “Fight. Fight for me, fight for our child.” 

Jaime groaned again and she spurred their horses into a gallop. At this grueling pace, they would go through the horses quickly. But there was a chance now, the barest hope, that they might make it to the the Cerwyn homestead in time for proper medical help.

She just had to keep Jaime from becoming a White Walker in the meantime. 

She remembered the horde that had attacked them as they sparred in the woods outside Stannis’ camp. She had never seen anything so horrifying in all her life. She would not let that happen to her husband. Even if she had to fight the Stranger himself, he would not be taken from her, not now. Not when so much was on the line for them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Bergamot for all her help on this chapter!
> 
> And thanks to all of you for reading this. Til next Monday.


	4. Arrival

That first day of riding through the snow with her delirious husband held tight against her had been the most harrowing journey of Brienne’s life. 

The feeling of helplessness was worse than when the Brave Companions had captured them. During that time, they had been constantly threatened and beaten by those men. She shuddered at the image of Jaime's hand being chopped off. 

But even that was not as nerve-wracking as their present predicament. 

Now, so much more was at stake.

Often, Brienne would slow down to make sure Jaime was still breathing, for even his shivering had stopped. His respiration was so labored that Brienne could only chant a desperate, helpless mantra: “Live for me. Live for our child.” 

She did not know what she would do if Jaime died.

Perversely, Brienne insisted on checking his eyes every few hours. She feared that the haunting, glowing blue hue of the White Walkers would overwhelm Jaime’s amazing emerald-colored ones. At least the wound to her husband’s side stayed closed. She had hastily sewn it back up during an earlier stop, cursing her lack of embroidery skills the whole time. The stitches were not going to leave a pretty scar, but it was good enough to keep blood from leaking from his body.

The few times Jaime was lucid enough to speak were even worse than when he was unconscious. He cried forlornly for his dying wench; his glassy gaze was unseeing as he called out for her to stay and not leave him again.

Brienne reassured him so often that she was there beside him, that she began to wonder if maybe she was actually dead. That she was a ghost tending her husband who would soon be joining his wife in the afterworld.

The fear that she was losing him made her ride the horse harder until the poor beast nearly collapsed beneath them. When they finally stopped for a rest, she forced rations into her empty stomach and water down Jaime’s fevered throat. After she changed to a different horse, they quickly rode on.

*

During those first two days, Brienne kept glancing over her shoulder for much of the ride to make sure nothing hounded them. The tension between her shoulder blades never let up, and she swore something was on their heels the entire time. Terrified of capture, she rode through the nights. 

Not knowing what else to follow, she used the same mountain path they had before but this time she headed south. The forest had been all but deserted then; now their presence was known.

Only when it snowed too heavily to find the path or the horses needed a break, would she dare risk a stop. It would be brief though and that was when she would re-bandage Jaime’s wounds or try to get food into him.

On the third day of travel, Jaime’s fever finally broke.

As they pressed on, her growing exhaustion exaggerated her surroundings, making the silhouetted trees appear as looming White Walkers, trying to grab them. One time she nearly reared the horse back when an outcropping of rocks became a horde of pursuing scouts determined to catch them. 

Heedless of the dangers of riding at night, she pushed on, hugging her unconscious husband tighter to her body. Now her urging mantra included herself; they had to survive this.

On the fourth day of their rushed journey back to Moat Cailin, he awoken for more than a few seconds and gazed dazedly around. Brienne was so happy that she led them off the trail for a short celebration of real food and rest. There were stew packets among their meager provisions, and she was finally able to get something warm into Jaime’s system before he passed out again.

Leaning against a tree, Brienne did not mean to, but she drifted off to sleep with Jaime lying protectively encircled in her arms. She awoke to the low hanging sun shining dimly upon them through the trees. Quickly she sat up in a panic, which caused her husband to groan from the sudden jerk. When her heart finally slowed to a normal cadence, and she exhaled relieved that no one had found them.

Glancing around groggily, she sniffed and her nose crinkled in disgust. They were both filthy. She wondered how they had not been discovered by the smell alone. 

Nearby was a small stream, and Brienne decided that she would clean some of the blood off Jaime. At first, she was concerned that the cold water might exacerbate his fever. But, it proved to be comforting for him and even seemed to help lower his temperature. 

Jaime was vaguely aware of what was going on, but it clear that he was in a lot of pain. She rested her cold hands upon his sweaty brow and then gently stroked the side of his face to reassure him. “It is alright, Jaime. I am not going anywhere.”

He croaked out, his eyes too bright for her liking. “I would hope not, wench. Who would wash my backside, then?”

Cleaned, fed, and somewhat rested, it was not long before Jaime was asleep again astride their horse. Ignoring the desire to close her eyes, Brienne nudged the horse’s flanks, and they cantered on.

She could not allow herself to feel fatigued. She had to keep them going if they were to survive. Mercifully, Brienne figured that the journey down south would only take a few more days.

For once she was happy that she was too worn-out to obsess about her pregnancy. But still, the fleeting thought brought a slight uptick to her lips and then a frown to her brow as she thought of the life she carried within. Was she really fit to be a mother?

By the sixth night on the road, Jaime dozed on and off, but the faltering gait from the exhausted horse made him hiss in pain with every jolting step. 

Frankly, she was so tired that she feared she might fall off the horse. She doubted Jaime nor anyone else would have been able to get her up then. 

Realizing they had little choice in the matter, Brienne gave herself permission to take a brief rest. Jaime needed proper sleep, and so did she. Besides the mount they rode, the additional horses she had tethered to their ride needed a break as well.

Finding a secluded area away from the trail, she made sure that Jaime was awake enough to stay seated and she dismounted. Planting her feet on the snowy ground, she nearly collapsed, and she grasped onto the saddle to steady herself. Her wobbly legs took a moment to straighten, and after a halfhearted stretch, she blearily began to work.

As she staggered about setting up camp, a dazed Jaime watched her from his warm perch on their shared mount. She still did not trust him to ride in the saddle alone, but he did not seem to mind. It must be warmer when she wrapped her big frame around him, anyway, she reflected.

Jaime spoke, his voice gravelly from disuse, “This is most embarrassing, wench. I remember leaving Stannis’ camp, but that is all.”

Her response was a grunt, and she tossed some hastily gathered wood into a pile.

“There was someone, or something pursuing us, though.” He rubbed a shaky hand across his damp brow. He grimaced when his movements tugged at the stitches to his side. “I swear you must have out ridden the Stranger himself.” Jaime declared, trying to make light of the situation. But it was obvious that his fevered visions had disturbed him. 

Nodding absently, Brienne helped Jaime down from the horse. It embarrassed him how weak he felt. His stump would not stop throbbing. He was worried he might lose even more of his arm now and the wound to his side felt as if it was on fire.

A quiet Brienne assisted him over to a cloak she had placed on the cold ground near the firewood. 

After he had sunk onto them, Jaime gazed to his wife as she clumsily tried to start a fire. As the kindling began to smoke, a warming flame sparked and a pleased Brienne sat back on her heels. Jaime though was concerned by her sluggish movements. “Wife, you need to slow down.”

Though she would never admit it to him, he knew she had been going almost nonstop since their escape from the Wall. Even with his blurred senses, he knew she must be exhausted.

As if her thoughts were elsewhere, she ignored his words and took the remaining food from the saddle bags. After she had placed the stew packets by the fire to warm them, Jaime tried to grab her arm as she stumbled past, but he could not reach her. His horrible feverish nightmares of her leaving him came to mind. But those were images he did not wish to dwell on.

“Brienne, please—” He pleaded softly.

Hearing her name seemed to snap her out of her trance. “Sorry, Jaime, what was that?” She asked wearily.

“Please sit down and relax.” 

She smiled at him. The action felt so foreign to her after a constant week of stress.

“Almost done.” Brienne tried her best to sound jovial. She was so happy he was alive, but nothing seemed to register with her right away. Honestly, she had been running on instinct for so long, very little could get past the strident resolve for food and flight that rattled about her mind. Sometimes she felt like a game of dice was being played in her head.

Jaime studied his wife as she finished setting things up. He wondered how much of her detachment was actually due to exhaustion. He indicated the cloak that he sat upon, “Since I am on my death bed, it is best that I clear my conscience.” She looked over at him startled, and he continued, “You understand, love, why I wished to side with Stannis?”

Exhaling, she glanced away. “I know it is all about the greater need.”

“Exactly, Brienne.”

Sensing her apprehensive mood, he pressed on. “I do not want you ever to think I would betray you.”

Brienne sighed, and then stared at him. “I know you would not. He was just such a deplorable man.”

She leaned over to tuck the fabric of the cloak around him tighter, and Jaime caressed her cheek. “We needed him to keep those White Walkers behind the Wall where they belong,” he insisted.

Jaime saw her take a breath to reply and continued quickly, “But not at the risk of you or our unborn child. And forget giving him Casterly Rock. That man was a fool not to seek an alliance with us. Foolish and greedy for power.” He tried to gauge her thoughts, but she seemed so far away. “Please sit with me.”

Her head stuttered in agreement, and Jaime relaxed. When she dropped down beside him, he opened his cloak for her to get in with him.

As she snuggled closer, he shivered when her cold form rested flush against his. Once she was done getting settled, his left hand found hers, and he squeezed it in comfort. Feeling the reassuring squeeze back, Jaime pulled her head down to lean on his shoulder. “Just rest a moment, wife. I will keep an eye out for trouble.”

Brienne nodded, her eyes already shutting. “I am sorry I messed everything up, Jaime,” she admitted between yawns, the sorrow clear in her tired voice.

“What, killing the person who would have taken Winterfell for us?”

She snorted, only half awake. “Yes, that.”

“It will all work out wench. You are almost finished with this pledge of yours; let us be happy about that.” He grinned at her, but she was asleep.

Carefully, he leaned forward and rescued their meal from the edge of the fire before it could burn. He ate only a bit, knowing she was now eating for two. He lightly nudged her awake. “You need to eat, Brienne. Here, we will share.” He held up some food, and she absently ate it. 

Finished, both settled down for the night. Noticing that her eyes could barely stay open, Jaime rubbed her back and cooed softly, “Get some sleep, Brienne. I will keep an eye out for now.”

He feared she might argue, but her eyes were shutting once more.

Though he was also exhausted, Jaime vowed to stay awake so she could get some much-needed rest. Besides, he had slept enough during the day. Now his thoughts shifted inwards, and he started to go over things that still needed to be accomplished. But other more joyous feelings took over as he studied his wife’s sleeping form. He was to be a father once more… and this time, he would do it right.

*

Nearing the end of their journey, they finally came upon the lands owned by Lord Cerwyn. Exhausted, they hid in the surrounding trees and waited for the cover of night before approaching the large homestead. It would not do to be seen by any Frey or Bolton spies. 

From the cover of the trees, Brienne surveyed the castle that buttressed against a small hill. Its two stout turrets overlooked the usually well-maintained fields that were now covered with a thin layer of snow. It was not a structure that dwarfed the land, but it did convey a rich manner. It appeared as if the stones of the castle had not been milled from the area. They were a deep red color that was accentuated by being intermixed amongst the native gray rock. 

Late that night, as the moonlight filtered through the clouds, they rode forward. Passing the formal sign that indicated they had finally reached Cerwyn’s castle, Brienne gazed at the sigil of a black battle-axe on silver. The words, “Honed and Ready” were etched deeply into the wood. She glanced over to the other horse to see if her traveling companion would have anything pithy to say. Instead, it looked like Jaime was just trying to stay upright in his saddle.

Jaime had insisted that he ride by himself the last few legs of the journey, and Brienne had let him. Soon he missed his wife’s warmth and comfort. Though he was more aware of his surroundings, he still felt weak and rather out of it. He knew it had been bad with the way Brienne continued to dote on him. Her gaze hardly left him, constantly observing his stiff body for any signs that he was in trouble.

The tired duo slowly trotted to the main gates. The sentry’s that guarded the entrance were reluctant to let in the disheveled pair. It was only because their Lord had told them to expect two people of their description that they let them through.

Brienne steered them through and into the courtyard that the ramparts surrounded. She pushed herself off her horse and then assisted Jaime in dismounting from his. Leaving the horses inside the stables, Brienne regarded the quiet area in puzzlement.

By now, it would be too late for anyone to formally greet them. Instead, Brienne led them both to the rear entrance of the castle. She pounded her fist on the thick, servant’s door. The wait seemed interminable as both stood there, swaying on their feet from fatigue. Finally, an irritated scullery maid jerked opened the door, broom out to fend off any trouble.

The maid eyed the two scruffy people and then lowered her ‘weapon.’

“Yes?” she asked cautiously.

“We were wondering if we could speak to a friend who came from the south.” Brienne was not too sure what she was supposed to say to state they were friendlies. She and Sansa had never thought of a specific code word.

After realizing that the large person in front of her was actually the brutish woman they had been told to expect, the maid grimaced. She quickly ushered them into the kitchen.

The maid observed the beleaguered duo in the light of the kitchen and “tsked” at their appearance. “Here, here. Please sit down before you fall over. I will get you both something to eat once I wake up the Lord and Lady.”

Brienne was too fatigued to argue, and the woman scurried off.

Movement caught Brienne’s gaze. She turned to see two of the four personal guards she had sent to deliver Sansa to the North standing in the doorway. They nodded at her by way of greeting. Being that it was in the middle of the night, they were half-dressed. Brienne looked past them and saw that their other two guards waited just outside the kitchen. They also dipped their heads at the worn-out pair.

After acknowledging their presence with an exhausted grin, Brienne dropped what little of their gear they had onto the floor. After she had helped Jaime to remove his damp cloak, she got him settled near the kitchen’s hearth. The embers were still red, so Brienne poked at them with the iron prod and tossed on more wood. The routine action of stoking the fire helped to keep her awake. Soon the room warmed up enough that Jaime stopped shivering.

The scullery maid rushed back in. “They will be here shortly. Ah, good, you got the fire going. I will heat up some stew for the two of you.” 

Seeing Sansa’s guards loitering nearby, she shooed them away, “Go back to bed and leave our guests be.”

The lead guard smirked and dipped his head to the tired duo, “We will catch up later, my Lord and Lady.” And the small group of protectors trudged back to their quarters.

As the pot of stew was being warmed over the now-blazing fire, the maid ushered Jaime and Brienne to sit at the table. She placed a plate with hard bread in front of them. Tearing the bread in two, Brienne placed half in front of Jaime. 

He eyed it accusatorily and picked it up.

After all the hard rations he had eaten on this journey, he was surprised his teeth had not been pulled out of their gums. He waited until the maid placed a bowl of hot stew in front of him and then dipped the tough bread in it to soften it up.

Once they settled down to eat their food, the Lord, and Lady Cerwyn wandered in. Brienne stood for ceremony, but Jaime was too tired to follow protocol. Instead, he scooped up a spoonful of the thick stew and studied the two in front of them between mouthfuls.

Lord Cerwyn was short and corpulent, while his lady was long and lean. Jaime mused to himself that they reminded him of the nursery tale he had heard as a boy. But unlike their hospitable nature described in that childhood rhyme, they both appeared rather displeased to see their new guests.

He watched as Lord Cerwyn pursed his lips at them. “I take it you two are the reason that we are still stuck with the Boltons and the Freys? Lord Bolton is calling you two heroes for killing Stannis. We will never get rid of his men now.”

Brienne glanced away in guilt, which made Jaime instantly dislike the man. He obviously did not understand the circumstances of Stannis’ death, but that did not excuse bad manners. Jaime would have replied with something scathing, but he had a feeling that if he pushed too hard, Cerwyn would not have any problems in ordering them killed.

Jaime glared at the petulant man in front of him. “What is worse, my lord? Being flayed or being burned alive at the stake? The North needs a new Warden, and that person is asleep in her chambers as we speak.”

Lord Cerwyn reluctantly ceded Jaime’s point. Trying to sound pleasant, he inquired, “You are early. Did you run into any problems?”

Jaime spoke before his honorable wife could blurt out an apology. “Only the part where I nearly died. If my wife had not looked so well after me, you would be talking to a corpse now.” 

The older lord blanched at Jaime’s words. It was clear that Lord Cerwyn was familiar with the White Walkers. Jaime turned back to Brienne, who was slowly spooning stew into her mouth.

“My lady, I lost all track of time. When are we expecting the others?”

It took a moment for her fuzzy mind to recall the time spent on the road. “We have at least one or two weeks before they get here.”

“Good.” By then, Jaime knew he would be feeling well enough to deal with Lord Cerwyn and his self-righteous indignation. He wondered if the man did anything for himself or if he just let others do it for him and bitched about the results afterward.

Jaime was pulled from his thoughts when he noticed that his wife had finished her stew and was beginning to nod off. In fact, if he did not act fast, Brienne would fall face first into her empty bowl.

He patted her hand, which snapped her back to awareness. Jaime focused on their hosts, “Though I would love to catch up, my lord,” said Jaime, “my wife and I need to rest. As you can guess, it was a rather arduous journey for us.”

“Yes, of course, sorry,” grunted Lord Cerwyn. (Though Jaime noted that he did not sound too apologetic). Cerwyn gestured for the maid to prepare a room for them, and she scuttled away.

Lord Cerwyn studied the beleaguered, hunched over pair that still managed to appear formidable. He never liked the Lannisters. They were connivers, always trying to get all the power for themselves. The Lady Sansa seemed to trust Ser Jaime and his wife, but that did not mean he had to. The minute either of them turned on his family, he would have them both hanged. The woman might be a chore to stop, but the lion would go easily enough, especially with a missing paw.

The maid returned, “Their chambers are ready.”

Jaime lurched to his feet while Brienne got wobbly onto hers. “Until tomorrow then, my lord,” said the smug Jaime.

Lord Cerwyn waved them away. “Yes, yes, we will see you in the morning.”

As the maid escorted the Lannisters from the kitchen, Jaime called over his shoulder correcting him, “Don’t expect us until late.”  
He missed the glare aimed his way by the irritated Lord.

The climb up the stairs seemed to take forever, but they finally reached their new chambers. Jaime almost laughed in relief when he saw the large bed before them. It had been too long since he had slept on anything other than astride a horse or on the hard ground.

Once they entered, he and Brienne did not even bother to undress; they collapsed onto the bed and did not move until the next evening.


	5. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fluff than stuff this chapter.
> 
> Our duo finally gets some much-deserved rest.

The next evening, Jaime and Brienne entered the dining room to find Lord Cerwyn pouring after dinner drinks for his wife and the others.

Lady Sansa and Podrick Payne had waited impatiently for the new arrivals to awake. When the beleaguered couple finally appeared, Sansa jumped up from her seat and rushed toward them. She made as if to hug Brienne, but the warrior woman never did like to be touched. Sansa read her body language well and clasped Brienne's large hands in hers instead. 

“It is good to see you, Lady Brienne.”

Brienne grinned and nodded, “And you as well, my lady.”

Sansa then dipped her head curtly at Jaime, her old prejudices still making her wary.

Jaime snorted and wondered if the girl would ever trust him. At least Podrick did not feel the same. The boy shook his hand merrily and then nodded at Brienne. Those two have such an odd relationship, Jaime mused to himself.

“Congratulations on your marriage,” Brienne’s squire exclaimed. Sansa only studied them quietly, which pushed Jaime further into annoyance.

Lord Cerwyn motioned for them to sit while his servants brought food out for them. 

“We have already eaten,” the cantankerous Lord explained. 

Jaime only shrugged in response. With slight difficulty, he pulled out his wife’s chair for her. Brienne sat down, and Jaime followed suit. Sighing, Jaime could not believe how good it felt to get off his feet. It was embarrassing how weak he still felt. Despite sleeping for most of the day, he considered himself lucky if he made it through the whole meal without falling asleep in mid-bite.

His aching stump reminded him that he would need to ask for a Maester soon. Though he had not dared look at the stump since it had been reinjured, he knew his wench had been keeping an eye on it. Her expression as she redressed it before they came down for supper was not nearly as anxious as it had been the day before. And yet, it still unnerved him when she said, “Oh, it looks so much better now.”

He did not want to know what it had looked like in the beginning.

Even before they had been served dinner, Cerwyn demanded to his tired guests, “Tell us what happened up North.” 

Jaime took a sip of the wine and watched the maid place a plate of food in front of him and then his wife. Once the servants left the room, Jaime aimed a look at the impatient Lord and declared, “All in good time, my lord.”

Jaime could hear Cerwyn gnashing his teeth together and hid his smile. Their host had no choice but to wait, which caused Cerwyn’s wife to place a cautionary hand on her husband’s arm.

Half way through with their meal, Jaime finally recounted what had happened at the Wall, but he made sure to keep it brief. “We finally arrived at Castle Black and slew Stannis and that witch of his. There were some problems,” he shrugged, “but we managed to make it back down here to you in relatively one piece.” 

Lord Cerwyn nearly spat out his wine when Jaime so easily spoke of killing Stannis. The flustered man looked as if he was about to curse out a condemnation, but Jaime’s loud sigh stilled him. He was already tired of Cerwyn’s bluster.

Viciously, Jaime stabbed his fork into his half-eaten food and angrily explained, “Surely the Lady Sansa explained what we were going to do up North?” 

The older lord leveled his glare at Jaime. “Yes, she did. But couldn’t you have waited until Stannis had killed the Boltons? As soon as the news reached the people of the North that their savior had been killed, their hopes were dashed.”

Jaime frowned. “We did what we had to do to survive, my lord. Granted there are some new obstacles we need to address, but eventually, the rightful heir will be ruling Winterfell.”

With a sneer, Cerwyn admonished them, “It is always the same with you Lannisters, act first and let others pick up the pieces. Frankly, this action has not helped our cause. Meanwhile, people are accusing you both of being king slayers. You,” he pointed at Jaime, “for slaying King Aerys all those years ago.” He stabbed his finger towards Brienne, “And she for killing Renly and now Stannis. She’s responsible for destroying the Baratheon House almost singlehandedly.” 

Worriedly, Brienne began to plead her case. “But I was absolved of Renly’s murder.”

Cerwyn’s shrug was condescending, “By the family that you had married into.”

Realizing that his honorable wife would not make a good enough case against these accusations, Jaime snapped, “This is nonsense, Cerwyn. Besides, I killed Stannis, not Brienne.”

Chuckling at Brienne’s paling features, Cerwyn said, “I guess it makes a better story that she killed them both.” 

Lord Cerwyn studied Brienne, who seemed to hunch over more in hopes of disappearing from his scrutiny. “Some even say that you are the Lord Hand’s new executioner,” he sneered at her as he continued. “They believe this not only because of the Baratheon brothers but because you also killed the Hound.” His stout fingers loudly tapped the wooden table to emphasize his every word, “There is yet another rumor that you were responsible for the Mountain’s downfall after he fell in love with you.”

Blanching, Brienne could only sputter in indignation. Jaime certainly had something to say about that. “Where did you hear such nonsense?”

Lord Cerwyn’s beady eyes appraised him. “I make it my business to know everything, Lannister.” His tone held a warning. As the two men glowered at one another, the silence added to the threatening tone of the exchange. 

Before Jaime could ground out a reply, Sansa interrupted, “Is my brother Jon alright?”

Grateful for the change in topic, Brienne stated, “Yes, he is well, and I know he looks forward to seeing you again, my lady.”

Cerwyn scoffed at the pleasantries and Jaime looked like he wanted to hit the man. Brienne sensed the growing hostility that was bubbling up from her husband. She knew that if Jaime had not vented in a while, he had a tendency to blow up fast. Quickly, she asked, “Have there been any problems here?”

“Only that bastard of Roose’s coming to my door and demanding more tax money. If Lady Sansa had not been here, I would have risked his ire,“ Cerwyn boasted. “I would have told him that no matter how much money the Boltons bled from the lands, the Warden of the North will always be a Stark.” 

“Well, I am glad you kept your nobility in check, my lord.” Jaime snapped. This man was just another blow-hard in Jaime’s opinion — all talk and so little action. He was sure the man would never risk even a chance of a scroll cut, let alone an all-out fight with another lord.

Forgetting himself in his anger, Jaime reached for his drink with his right bandaged wrist. He winced when his stump bumped hard into the cup. Delicately, he cradled his wounded wrist close. Brienne and Lady Cerwyn noticed his discomfort. 

Being a proper hostess, Lady Cerwyn inquired, “My lord, is there a problem?”

“Yes, Lord Stannis thought it would be fun to torture me to sign over Casterly Rock. He would have been such a forgiving Warden of the North,” said Jaime sarcastically as he tried not to rub his hurt wrist.

Having enough of this, Lord Cerwyn slammed his cup onto the table. “Yes, you have made it clear how horrible he would have been. But you have not been under the thumb of the Boltons as we have…”

Outraged, Jaime held up his throbbing stump. “Actually, I lost more than a thumb due to Bolton’s men, but that is neither here nor there. Jon Snow and Lord Tyrion will be arriving soon with the latest news. Then we will figure out a way to put the Lady Sansa in power at Winterfell. As you said earlier, only a Stark should be considered Warden of the North.” 

Lord Cerwyn conceded Jaime’s point and, for once, kept his tongue in cheek.

Brienne glanced over at her grimacing husband and then turned to their hosts. “Is there a local Maester that you trust?”

Lady Cerwyn shook her head, and her husband sneered, “Because of your actions up North, the Maester would not see you. The only other one is an ally of the Boltons and the Freys. Sorry, my lady, but we dare not take a chance of your discovery by those who sympathize with the enemy.”

Jaime grunted, “It is fine, wench.”

“No, it is not, Jaime.” His wife’s usual stubborn frown was aimed at their hosts. “Something must be done.”

“I have some skill in healing,” Lady Cerwyn interjected. “I might be able to assist.”

Podrick caught Brienne’s gaze in his and added, “And your father’s Maester believed that it would be most helpful if I learned some herbs and such. He seemed to think that since you were going on such a dangerous mission, I should know basic healing methods.”

Brienne nodded her thanks to them both and turned to Lord Cerwyn.

“Then, if you will excuse us.” 

She helped Jaime to his feet and assisted him from the room. Lady Cerwyn followed, and Sansa and Lord Cerwyn exchanged a glance. The young Stark had been silent for much of their exchange, and Cerwyn was curious if the cold reception Sansa gave Jaime Lannister was genuine. He motioned Sansa closer towards the fire so they could talk.

*

As Jaime and Brienne staggered up the stairs, Lady Cerwyn called for a maid to bring up some clean bandages and warm water.  
Once they reached their rooms, Brienne noticed that the sheets had been changed. Since neither had bothered to clean up much when they had awoken earlier, Brienne did not want to dirty them once again.

Noticing her hesitancy, Lady Cerwyn insisted, “Do not worry about that, my dear. Now let us get his tunic off.” 

Between the two of them, they were able to get Jaime out of his tunic and laying onto the bed. “Wench,” he protested to Brienne, “if you wanted me naked, all you had to do was ask.”

Lady Cerwyn noticed Brienne’s deep blush and wondered how much of their interactions were for show and how much was the truth. The thought of the handsome Jaime Lannister with this type of a woman baffled Lady Cerwyn.

Before Brienne could chastise her husband, Podrick arrived with medical supplies. Once he set them down, he carefully removed Jaime’s bandages to reveal his stump. Brienne had done the best she could, but there was still much damage that had not fully healed. His wrist was still tender and inflamed, although it did not appear infected.

Cautiously, Podrick cleaned and re-bandaged it.

Through gritted teeth, Jaime asked, “Will I have to loose any more of it?”

Brienne eyes snapped to her husband’s face. He was trying to be brave, but she could tell he was scared.

Podrick shook his head. “No, though there is a lot of damage. But whoever had taken care of this the first time it had been…removed, had done a good job of healing it.”

Jaime nodded, relieved. He shook his head at the thought of the odd ex-Maester who had tended to his grievous wound back at Harrenhal. He wondered how much Qyburn enjoyed being at Highgarden with his sister now…

“But—,” the young squire continued, “—it is going to take a while to heal. I would recommend not putting on your wrist cuff for at least a month. Now after a few days, the bandages should come off to let the air help heal it. Here, let me check your other wound…”

It was only due to the good news in regards to his stump that Jaime allowed the squire to poke and prod the injury on his side. A pleased Podrick stated, “Yes, this wound has also been well-tended. It continues to heal nicely.”

A relieved Brienne smiled. In gratitude, Jaime clasped her hand in his and kissed her palm lovingly.

Lady Cerwyn was surprised by the affectionate gesture, and even more so when she spied the look of adoration in Brienne’s expression. ‘What an odd pair,’ she thought, realizing that there must be some truth to the rumors of their love.

Once Podrick was finished, Lady Cerwyn said, “I will have bath water brought up for you both.” She glanced at Brienne, already knowing the answer to her next question. “Will you need any help?” 

Brienne blushed and stammered, “No, no thank you, my lady.”

“Yes, my wife should be able to handle me now,” Jaime said with a sly grin.

Both Podrick and Lady Cerwyn smiled at the newlyweds and left the room, closing the door behind them.

“Help me up, love.” Jaime pulled on Brienne’s hand, and she assisted him in standing. He groaned as he got to his feet, and had to grip her broad shoulders for balance.

With care, Brienne aided Jaime in removing his trousers and small clothes until he was as bare as his name day. His disheveled appearance and bandaged right arm reminded her of another bath they had shared many moons ago. She could not stop herself from licking her suddenly dry lips in appreciation.

Though weak and still in pain, he stood proudly in front her. His smile was cocky, for he knew the effect he was having on her.  
Ignoring his leer and wagging brow, Brienne began to remove her shoes. But a coy smile graced her lips. There was certainly a lot to admire about her husband, and it pleased her that he aimed it only at her.

A knock on the door had Jaime cursing and diving under the covers. On Brienne’s command, the maid and two servants entered, bringing in buckets of hot water. The large tub that was tucked in the corner of the chambers was quickly filled.

With a dip of the head to signal that they were dismissed, Brienne locked the door behind the retreating servants.

She hoped that the Cerwyns knew to keep their help in line to not tell anyone they were there. At least Sansa’s presence should help to keep their own whereabouts quiet.

Turning back to the bed, she leaned over Jaime who was dozing under the covers. “You first, my lord…”

He rubbed his eyes groggily and sat up. “Really, I was hoping we could share it.”

Demurely, she shot back, “I have to make sure that your bandages stay dry.”

Jaime smirked. “And the other parts of me?”

“Seriously, husband, you can hardly stand on your own,” she admonished, but her lips curled upwards at his impertinence as she helped him out of the bed.

“Yes, but I am a man who has a naked woman next to him,” Jaime assured, “a strong and sexy woman at that.” To emphasize his preference, he lightly patted her bottom.

“You must still be feverish.” Brienne teased.

He grunted as she assisted him towards the tub, “Only around you, my love.” 

After helping him get settled into the tub, Brienne began to wash his neck and arms with the small brick of soap. Normally, Jaime would insist on doing it himself, but he was so tired, and his wife had such a wonderful, gentle touch. It did not take her long to notice how her hands affected him.

“Jaime!” She exclaimed in mock horror. But secretly, she was delighted that she still had this effect on him, even when he was in this condition.

He shrugged helplessly. “Well, I did warn you.”

“You are truly incorrigible.”

“Wonderful, is it not?” Obviously, they would not be doing anything tonight, but Jaime still loved to torment his wench. He was even more pleased to have her giving it right back to him.

She laughed and dumped a bucket of water over his head, making his sputter and quenching his ardor. Once he was as clean as she could get him, she helped him from the tub and then quickly rubbed him dry with a large piece of muslin cloth. 

“Careful wench,” he hissed. “Any harder and you will ruin whatever good will you had risen up in me.”

“Good.” She would have smacked his bare ass to hurry him along back to bed, but did not want to encourage him. Though, with how tired they both were, she doubted they would be up for action anytime soon.

Once Jaime was settled under the clean sheets, she finished undressing. She could not believe how much grime and blood had caked on her clothes. They would have to burn them; she thought grimacing as she tugged off her stiff trousers. She glanced up and noticed her husband ogling her. 

No longer feeling so bold, she climbed into the tub and hunched over in the tepid water. She did not know how her husband could find her attractive. Though it had only been a few weeks since Melisandre had made her aware of her pregnancy, she already felt her body changing. Would her husband find her even remotely appealing when she swelled with their child, her large awkward body even bigger than it was now? Once more she wondered if Jaime truly wanted this child. And she wondered if she did as well. Neither had spoken of it yet, but would have to soon.

When she finished her bath, she rose from the dirty water and stumbled over to grab the damp towel from Jaime. After drying herself, she propped Oathkeeper against the bed. Barely containing a large yawn, she climbed under the covers and draped her arms protectively around Jaime.

As he scooted closer into her embrace, he glanced at the sword. “Wife,” he whispered seriously, “though Lord Cerwyn is filled with bluster, I am sure our hosts will not actually harm us.”

“No, but there are others out there that wish to.” 

He could hear the worry in her tone, and he kissed her bare shoulder tenderly.

Lulled by the comforting presence of her husband, it was not long before Brienne’s breath steadied, and she fell asleep. 

Jaime studied her face. He wished they both had more energy so they could christen this new bed of theirs. They had made it a challenge on the road North to see how much debauchery they could get away with in whatever new place they happened to be sleeping in. They had not had that pleasure for a while now, and Jaime missed the feel of her.

Brienne started to snore softly, and Jaime turned his attention to his other throbbing body part. His damn stump was aching, and he stared at it in betrayal. Jaime could not believe that he had been sidelined by it again. Sure, the wound to his side was bad, but this continuous agonizing pain from his damaged wrist made him wish he could just cut off his entire arm and be done with it.

He sneered in disgust at his own weakness. His aching stump was a constant reminder that he was no longer the man he once was—that he was only part of one now.

Jaime struggled against the memory of that bastard Stannis grabbing his scarred wrist and squeezing it for all his worth. Honestly, he would have given up his own brother to make him stop. The look of rage in his wife’s eyes over his treatment had bolstered his strength. Enough, at least, to deny Stannis’ request.

And then that usurper had threatened his unborn child. He was embarrassed how quickly he capitulated, but he could not risk both his wife and child. 

His child… 

Jaime could not stop himself from smiling into his wife’s shoulder. There were so many drastic changes in his life, but maybe some would not be so bad after all.

A light knocking at the door roused him from his pleasant thoughts. Thankfully, it did not alert Brienne to wakefulness. Jaime gingerly got out of bed to unlock the door.

Cracking the door open, Jaime peeked out and saw Podrick standing in the hall. The embarrassed young squire glanced away from the opening and offered Jaime a cup of cloudy water.

“It should help with the pain.”

Reluctantly, Jaime accepted the cup and drank the foul beverage quickly. After a grimace, he handed back the cup and smirked at how Podrick blushed. It was clear the lad thought he had interrupted something. Jaime couldn’t hide his grin. Brienne’s squire was like his wench in many ways. If Jaime had not been so tired, he might have been tempted to tease the boy about it. Instead, he mumbled his ‘thanks,' shut the door and stumbled back to bed.

Thankfully, the medicine helped the pain recede, and Jaime was able to get some much-needed sleep.

*

The next morning, the Lannisters broke their fast with their hosts and then retired back to their room. Neither was much in the mood for social gatherings, and their hosts did not seem to mind when they had ducked out early.

Jaime collapsed instantly back into bed. Shutting his eyes, he waited for the dip in the bed but instead heard the unmistakable sound of a blade being unsheathed. Curious, he glanced over and was surprised when his wench began to check both Valyrian blades; he thought she was as fatigued as he was. Her discouraging frown as she examined the swords made Jaime pause in asking her to come to bed. He recognized that stubborn scowl and sighed, resigned.

Taking the chair nearest the bed, Brienne sat down. It was obvious that she wanted to keep an eye on Jaime while she sharpened their swords. 

That morning, while they had gotten dressed in borrowed clothes, she had mentioned how neglectful she had felt since she could not take care of the weapons on the open road. Half naked, she had vowed that she would give them a proper cleaning at the earliest opportunity. A leering Jaime had smacked his lips and wondered what else she would consider sharpening.

As she began her task, Jaime frowned. Regardless of the want of intimacy, they did have a pressing subject they needed to discuss. He did not know if she was purposely ignoring him or the situation because his wife had a tendency to be always occupied when there was something she did not wish to talk about.

Jaime studied her as she reverently carried out her duty. Maybe some teasing would get her to open up.

“You know there are other things that can use your ministrations.” He ran his fingers over his torso playfully.

Though Brienne did not glance up, he did catch the corners of her mouth ticking upwards before she schooled her features. Now she purposely took her time rubbing the shaft of his sword, her firm grip squeezing it in the most provocative way. Jaime glared at her and folded his arms across his chest.

With a petulant huff, he stated, “You are doing that on purpose.”

Smirking, Brienne stood up and sheathed the swords back into their scabbards. Delighted, Jaime patted the side of the bed next to him. “Come, lie down, wife.”

After placing the swords close to her reach should she need them, she dropped onto the bed. Jaime scooted closer to her and began to play with the hem of her tunic.

“Jaime…” She warned.

“Yes, I know.” He lifted up her shirt just enough to study her stomach. He ran his hand over the slight swell that had begun to form beneath her taut muscles. 

Brienne wanted to speak but stopped when she noticed Jaime’s tender expression.

Without another word, he pressed his cheek to her stomach and began to whisper words. She caught only bits and pieces: “stubborn,” “wonderful,” and “mine.” She smiled at the wistfulness of his tone.

Jaime glanced up at her, and the expression of such joy on his face made her swallow loudly. All her fears and concerns that he would not want this child melted. For once, she allowed herself the hope that, maybe, everything was going to be alright.

“I – – I cannot believe this happened.” Her voice was stilted and raw.

“Oh, but it is a wonderful thing,” said Jaime. “We are going to have a child, my love.” He studied her and frowned. “It is what you want, right?”

She nodded and then bit her lower lip. “Yes, but it has all been rather sudden.” He heard the slight tremor in her voice and kissed her stomach.

“Leave it to my father to hasten the time table.” Jaime grasped her hand. “Do not worry, Brienne. We will get our life back again.” He could not help the sardonic grin, “Eventually.”

“I had hoped to have you all to myself for a bit longer,” she replied.

Hearing the sadness in her voice, Jaime clasped her hand in his. “Well,” he said smiling, “we can always send the child off to the Esso circus if we get tired of it. I hear they are always hiring.”

She chuckled quietly at his jest, and the tension lifted somewhat.

But Brienne could not help but feel as if she were sacrificing a part of herself–first for this marriage and now for their child. They would have to settle down soon. Part of that commitment scared her, while another part of her was joyous at the thought. As a young girl, she had dreamed about this day. But then she grew up, and those dreams seemed almost impossible. 

“I didn’t think I would ever get this chance,” she whispered, her eyes stinging with unexpected tears. “And now I worry if it is a good thing for us after all.” 

“I swear it will be alright, Brienne.” He released her hand and wiped away the tears on her cheeks. He kissed her and the strength of it was as if he was trying to convince her that all would be ok. It was not a chaste exchange, but Jaime forced himself to break away. He shifted back down and rested his head on her stomach again.

Absently, she ran her fingers gently through his hair, comforting them both.

Brienne heard his muffled words as he whispered promises, “I vow to keep you both safe and free from harm…”

It was the Kingsguard oath, Brienne realized, slightly modified to accommodate her and their unborn child. Brienne smiled and felt the tears return. She sighed, happy in the knowledge that they would face this new challenge together. 

But as she combed her husband’s hair and listened to his soft words, still her own doubts plagued her about what sort of mother she would be.

*

For the next few days, Jaime kept to their room, resting and healing.

Brienne remained close to his side, and her hovering was starting to make him crazy. Unless she was going to sleep with him (which she vowed she would not do until he was fully healed), he wished she would find something else to occupy her time.  
She pouted when he said as much, and that only made him more frustrated. “Wench, you need to relax. I am fine.”

“I know Jaime, it is just, well, I almost lost you, and—“ She looked away, and he cursed his short temper. Now her coddling made sense.

He clasped her hand. “I wish I felt better. I would rush you outside and spar with you this instant.”

Brienne smiled. “I do miss that.” She rested her forehead against his.

An idea suddenly struck him. “What about seeing how much that squire of yours has progressed? Didn’t your father promise to work with him?”

Brienne nodded, pleased with the idea, but then she bit her lip. “I fear to leave you alone, though.”

Patting her knee, Jaime shrugged. “Then how about I sit by the window and watch you two practice?”

“You will not get chilled?” Once again, the concern in her voice made him internally flinch. Did she really think him so weak?

Jaime forced himself to smile. “I promise not to let that happen. Here, you can even help me get comfortable. But you have to let me look after myself from now on, Brienne.”

She nodded in understanding and followed him to the window that overlooked the large courtyard. Brienne made a show of letting Jaime open the window himself.

It was a bit of a struggle – the window had not been used in a while – but Jaime was pleased when he finally succeeded in pushing the heavy glass outward.

Brienne frowned at the cool breeze that blew in. There was definitely a chill in the air. Jaime ignored her glower and sat down on the large ledge under the window.

Schooling her scowl, Brienne grabbed the covers from the bed and bundled him up tightly in the thick blankets. Clearly pleased with her work, she kissed his forehead and then hurried away down the hall.

As soon as she was out of sight, Jaime struggled out of some of the many blankets. Tired from his actions, he leaned back against the corner of the window and gazed outside.

Shortly, his wife, her Squire, and Lady Sansa trudged into the snowy courtyard below. Jaime was surprised that the Stark girl had come to watch, but he figured she was as tired of being cooped up as he was. Her four personal guards trailed the group and took up positions around the courtyard.

Brienne and Podrick stretched to warm up. When Brienne glanced up at Jaime, he saw her frown. Perhaps she could see he had removed some of the blankets. She looked as if she was considering marching back up to him, but instead she barked out a command for Podrick to “Come at her.”

Charging forward, Podrick did as Brienne ordered, and she easily parried his first blow. She followed through, hitting him with the flat side of the practice sword. Her blow propelled Podrick past her, and she swung around to track his movements.

Breathing hard, Podrick seemed to center himself before attacking her once again. This time, he was able to block her hits. Surprisingly, Podrick even made a few advances against her as well.

Realizing he was actually a bit jealous of how well Podrick fought back, Jaime studied the fight with a sour expression. His wench had always said her squire was still learning, but it appeared as if time with Brienne’s father had paid off well.

When Podrick landed a blow to the wench’s shoulder, Jaime noticed that Sansa clapped merrily. The looks that were exchanged between those two made Jaime pause. Sansa and Podrick were near the same age and shared a history. 

Evoking his hazy memory, Jaime recalled seeing them close together the few times he had come across them this past week. Grimacing, he wondered if that could be a problem for the future of Winterfell. How could his brother co-rule with the Stark girl if philandering was involved?

The fleeting glance between the squire and the young lady was not lost on his wench either if her sudden frown was any indication. Perhaps it had not been a good idea, after all, to leave those two alone on the romantic Isle of Tarth. According to his brother, Podrick was known as a bit of a Lothario among the ladies. Jaime groaned loudly – just what they needed.

Brienne glanced up sharply at his pained grunt, and Podrick took advantage of her sudden loss of attention. His hit to her arm was hard enough that she had to take a momentary break from their sparring. As she flexed her fingers, she side-eyed the cocky squire. Jaime recognized the look and felt bad for the lad. His wench did not like to lose.

They resumed their fight, and in just a few short blows, Podrick had been knocked to the ground.

Sansa ran up to stunned Podrick and checked him over closely, cooing soft words of comfort the whole time. 

Looking pissed at their interactions, Brienne stomped from the yard and back into the castle.

Jaime watched Sansa dust the squire off, her hands lingering at the man’s shoulder. The two of them were a bit too close for Jaime’s liking, and Sansa was certainly not acting like a lady right now.

Sighing, Jaime leaned back. He did not have to wait long for his wench to march back into the room. With a grimace, he shut the windows. He had a feeling the two young people down below would not appreciate what his wife had to say about that.


	6. Plans

By the middle of the second week, Jaime was feeling much better. So much so that he planned on convincing Brienne to let him out of the castle. It was finally a pleasant day, and Jaime was tired of being cooped up in the stuffy Keep. 

Glancing over to his wife, he stared at her in concern. Brienne had been reticent during the week and hadn’t sparred against Podrick since that time she had laid him out in the dirt. When Jaime teased her about this and she grumbled that she just wasn’t in the mood anymore. 

Jaime suspected that her lack of activity was not just due Podrick’s close attention to Lady Sansa, nor of recuperating from the arduous task of getting them to the homestead safely. She might have even been worried about the lack of troops to secure Winterfell from the Boltons, but he had a feeling it was something more personal. But since Brienne refused to talk any more about her pregnancy, he did not press her further about it.

He wasn’t surprised she was still reeling from the shocking news. Her world had dramatically changed in moments. He’d just have to convince her that settling down at Casterly Rock had its advantages. At least it was less life-threatening than their more recent adventures. Though he imagined court intrigue would drive them both to commit bodily harm upon others.

Regardless, Jaime felt he was going insane from boredom and figured they both could use some fresh air. 

Getting up from their bed, he sauntered over to the window stoop where she sat staring aimlessly at the grounds below. Jaime leaned over her, which seemed to snap her from her daze, and she looked up at him in slight annoyance.

“Jaime, I already told you, I am not hungry.”

That was another thing — she had not been taking care of herself. She had not been eating or sleeping enough. Jaime decided not to pursue the argument just now. “Maybe some fresh air will help your appetite.” 

She glanced away, unimpressed. 

“Come on, Brienne. It is a lovely day, let’s take a walk. It would do us both some good. Besides, I am feeling a bit ill from being in this stuffy room for so long.” Jaime knew she could never say no when it concerned his own health. 

Resigned, she nodded, and Jaime helped her to her feet. Grabbing their cloaks, they left their chamber, arm-in-arm.

*

Exiting out into the crisp air, Jaime spotted two of Sansa’s personal guards relaxing by the stables. Despite the cold, they seemed to be enjoying one of the rare days of sunshine.

Nodding a greeting to the two men, Jaime led Brienne out of the courtyard and along a path that meandered throughout the vast property.

They had been walking in silence for a bit, and it was comfortable, but Jaime was never one who could enjoy quiet for too long. Besides, he wanted Brienne to admit to what was preoccupying her thoughts. 

Almost as if sensing what he was about to bring up, Brienne stated, “The snow is very picturesque.”

Jaime grunted as he took in the bare trees and the cold, fluffy white snow that covered the forest around them. “Yes, but I am glad this will not be our permanent home.” The snow made his stump ache— actually, it made everything ache. Noticing Brienne’s look of guilty concern, he stopped, then tugged on her arm so she would do the same.

“Regardless of your troublesome pledges, I would have followed you to the last dusty patch in Essos, wench. And don’t worry about this;” he held up his wrapped stump, “it is still rather versatile.”

Pulling her in close, Jaime wormed his bandaged wrist and cold hand between Brienne’s cloak and tunic. With dexterity he thought he had lost with his hand, he was able to caress the warm, bare skin of her lower back. Brienne closed her eyes at his soothing touch, the corner of her lips lifting just a little. He leaned close to purr in her ear, “Besides, we do always find interesting ways to keep one another warm.”

Brienne’s shiver was not just due to the chill of his extremities against her naked flesh. 

She smiled, and a pleased Jaime angled in for a kiss, but the sound of frantic footsteps crunching in the snow made him pull away.

A young man rushed down the path to meet them. Brienne attempted to stand in front of Jaime in a defensive stance, despite the fact that they had both – stupidly – left their swords in the chamber. Jaime nudged her shoulder until they were side by side. “Remember wench,” he growled low, “we face things together.” Jaime had vowed that she would not be taking things on by herself any longer. Frowning, he recognized the young man as one of Cerwyn’s pages.

The boy stopped abruptly in front of them. “Men,” he panted breathlessly, “men are at the gates.”

Without a second thought, Jaime grabbed Brienne’s hand, and they raced back to the castle.

*

Slowing down as they reached the back of the homestead, Jaime and Brienne breathed hard from the exertion of their run. If he could, Jaime would have laid down in the snow and taken a nap. He could not believe that his stamina was still this weak. And by the exhaustion reflected in his wife’s features, he had a feeling she would not mind getting some rest as well.

Brienne tugged on his hand and with a resigned sigh, he allowed her to pull him toward the courtyard. He wished she would wait to gauge their surroundings before she acted. 

Soon they heard men approaching on horseback, but they still had yet to lay eyes on their unannounced guests. Sneaking up to the stables, the couple cautiously spied the arrival of a group of five men in black as they trotted over toward their location. They relaxed upon seeing who was at the front of the small procession. 

The visitors they had been waiting for had finally shown up. With a relieved exhale, both trudged up to the group to formally meet Lord Tyrion Lannister and Lord Commander Jon Snow.

*

While Jon became reacquainted with the Lord and Lady Cerwyn, Tyrion sought out Jaime and Brienne in their chambers. The newlyweds had disappeared shortly after welcoming the new arrivals in the courtyard. Once Jaime had warmly greeted his brother, he had indicated for Tyrion to meet them upstairs after he had settled in.

Tyrion was bothered to see how wan and pale his brother looked since he last saw him, injured in Stannis’ tent. Brienne, too, seemed a shadow of her former self.

After being shown to his room, Tyrion then waddled to Jaime and Brienne’s door down the hall from his. With barely a knock, he entered their room, not waiting to be announced. He smirked to find the couple sitting on their bed with their heads together, quietly conferring. 

They jumped when he sauntered into the room. 

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt you,” said Tyrion with a knowing leer.

Jaime grinned at him, but Brienne appeared preoccupied. After a moment, she shook her head, stood and then nodded at Tyrion. “My lord.”

Tyrion smiled up at her. “My lady. You seem to be getting taller.”

“It is just the change in altitude, my lord,” she replied.

The smaller lord laughed, pleased at her response. He noticed the quick quirk of her lips in amusement before her expression returned to its usual dour expression.

Brienne leaned over and pecked Jaime’s cheek in farewell. “I will let you two catch up.”

Jaime called to her as she left the room, “It would be good if you ate something.” 

The curt smile she leveled at him made Jaime nod in understandings — she would not baby him if he would not coddle her.

Tyrion watched her leave, smirking at how Jaime doted on her. “So how are you, dad?”

Jaime smiled. “On the mend. And keep quiet about the babe. We do not want anyone else to know for now.”

Tyrion held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Yes, of course.” Tyrion studied his brother closer. “Are you feeling restored? You appear as if you nearly lost the race against the Stranger.” Now better appreciating Brienne’s somber mood, Tyrion had to ask, “It was bad, wasn’t it?”

Jaime’s one hand aimlessly brushed the quilted comforter under him. “Yes, your sovereign did quite a number on me. But then, only one of us made it out of that tent still alive.” Jaime paused, appraising his brother. “So what is the news, brother?” 

Though Tyrion was tougher for Jaime to read than Brienne, he could tell that something was amiss. Tyrion refused to look him in the eye. Alas, the difficulty in figuring out exactly what, was not so surprising. Tyrion had been playing the game since he had been a babe. Though his baby brother played it well, often his motivations were a puzzle to Jaime. As he watched Tyrion glance nervously around the room, Jaime thought of all the tight-lipped people around him and sighed. Perhaps Tyrion needed a drink to get him to open up.

"There's water on the table, brother, if you are parched," said Jaime. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to go to the kitchens for wine.”

Tyrion declined and instead stared out the window. Jaime cleared his throat as if to goose his brother’s confession along.

Resigned, Tyrion admitted, “There could be a problem. Ser Davos was a bit more upset than we had anticipated. He left with most of Stannis troops, as well as Stannis’ wife and child.” 

Jaime groaned. Now they did not have enough soldiers to defend against reinforcements from the Dreadfort, let alone get Winterfell back again. They needed Stannis’ men. 

“Gods,” he said, “What can we do now? My stubborn wife already feels guilty enough.” Brienne would blame herself for this, and Jaime knew she would do something foolhardy to make up for it.

“Jon told me he has a backup plan to take Winterfell,” said Tyrion. “But he didn’t want to divulge any of it to me until he was sure his sister was here and that this was not some Lannister trick.” 

Curious Jaime studied his brother. “I thought you two were friends?”

Tyrion wagged his eyebrows, “Ah, but I am a Lannister first.”

Snorting, Jaime shook his head. “There can be no doubt that he is Ned Starks child.”

“There is one more thing,” Tyrion could not help but grin at telling this news, “for some reason, Davos stole both the witch's and Stannis’ corpses.”

“What? Why would he—?” Jaime stopped in mid-sentence, his mind trying to find reason over such insanity.

Tyrion shrugged. “Jon thinks he might have gone a bit crazy after his ‘king’ was killed. We believe he went up North to fight the White Walkers, but it is just as likely that he took Stannis home to Dragonstone to be buried there.”

Before Jaime could further comment on the absurdity of the situation, Jon sauntered in with Sansa trailing happily behind him. Podrick and Brienne followed the pair, and the giantess seemed more relaxed now. Jaime knew that feeling of relief would be short lived once she heard the latest.

After Brienne had sat down next to Jaime, they watched as Podrick gave Tyrion an enthusiastic handshake. When the young squire stood back, Tyrion turned to Sansa. They stared at each other. It was obvious that he had no idea what to say to his estranged wife.

Jaime cleared his throat and turned to stare pointedly at Jon. “Satisfied that we were telling you the truth, Snow?” 

Jon nodded. “I will keep my word.” 

With a grunt, Jaime swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “Good, then shall we continue this reunion downstairs? I am afraid this room is just not big enough for all of us.”

*

They reconvened around the largest table in the main hall. Lord and Lady Cerwyn joined them in the war council. They had as much at stake as everyone else.

Tyrion made a beeline to the front of the roaring fire that raged in the hearth. He had found that no matter how warm a room was, he still could never get the chill to leave his small form. Ruefully he gazed above the fireplace and smirked. Above it hung an imposing family tapestry, the visages of Lord and Lady Cerwyn starring down at him in a scowl of judgment.

He was pleased though to see all the books that lined a wall, and he even recognized a few volumes scattered throughout the bookshelves. And interspersed among them were shiny trinkets that Lord Cerwyn had no doubt purchased from traveling merchants. The corpulent man did not seem like the type who enjoyed wandering far from the comforts of home.

Glancing about the opulent room, Tyrion eyed the nearby liquor cabinet. Noticing his interested gaze, Lady Cerwyn went over and poured a large cup of wine for him. After setting it down in front of him, Tyrion nodded his thanks to her. “The North knows how to look after its people,” he observed with a tweaked grin.

Smiling politely at the diminutive man, she replied, “You do us a service, my lord, in guarding the Great Wall.”

“Ah, about that—” Tyrion trailed off, and Lady Cerwyn frowned.

Instead of continuing, Tyrion smirked as he reflected on the journey from the Wall. It had been a long trek, but their black uniforms guarded them against curious looks from passersby’s and dangerous questions from Roose Bolton’s men. Alas, the appearance of the Night’s Watch seemed to remind everyone that Stannis was dead, and they were once again under Bolton’s mercy. It was impossible to ignore the somber mood of the smallfolk they had come upon. 

Across the table, Jaime addressed Jon. “Do you want to tell them the latest or should I—?”

Clearing his throat, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch addressed the group. “I am afraid the Onion Knight has taken most of Stannis’ troops with him,” Jon explained. “We are not sure where he’s gone.”

The looks of resignation made it clear that all knew the problems this posed.

“What of your men at the Wall?” Sansa asked hopefully, “Could they help us with Winterfell?”

Jon sighed agitatedly. “They swore they would do their best to assist however they can, but they cannot forsake their vow of protecting the Wall. With the problems we have been having with the White Walkers, I dare not order them to leave it.”

“Then we have lost,” Cerwyn muttered.

Registering the concerned faces around the table, Jon replied, “Actually, I have spoken to the leader of the Wildings, Tormund Giantsbane. He has guaranteed that the Wildings staying at Castle Black will help us free Winterfell.” 

"But you can take Winterfell with so few?" Tyrion asked, surprised. 

"I know of a secret tunnel that I can use to access the castle,” Jon explained. “It would not take many to sneak in at night, kill any who opposed us, and hold the Keep until help arrives. Perhaps we can even take out a few key loyalists while we’re at it.” He patted Tyrion on the shoulder. "And I could use someone of your skill watching my back."

Not wanting to appear a coward, Tyrion nodded in agreement. It was a decent plan, after all. As long as the Wildings followed Jon’s command to the word. Tyrion had found they had a tendency to do as they pleased most of the time. 

Jaime frowned at Tyrion. "Is it wise for you to fight, brother?”

Tyrion winced, hoping his expression did not reveal the extent to which his brother’s words wounded him. "A lord should take part in the battle for his lands," he answered fiercely.

Clearing his throat, Jaime tried to mollify him, “I mean, can these Wildings be trusted at your back?"

Tyrion noticed Jon straightening in his chair, preparing for a fight. 

“They are willing to do so much more, Kingslayer,” Jon spat. “Tormund left with the promise to get us the fighters we need to attack the Dreadfort reinforcements that will converge on Winterfell.” 

Jaime studied Jon for a moment, wondering where the Lord Commander’s allegiances truly lay. Shrugging off the vehement glare from Snow, Jaime calculated in his head the time it would take for the Wildings reinforcements to reach them. He pursed his lips in frustration. “And how long will it be until this “help” arrives?”

“He needs to recruit numbers to match Bolton’s men,” Jon said. “And the word is that Roose Bolton has around three to four thousand men at the Dreadfort.” He paused, letting the information sink in with the group. “So it may take Tormund a few months, maybe longer, to convince enough fighters to join him. In the meantime, we will just have to hold out at Winterfell until he returns.”

Brienne glanced sharply at her husband, and Jaime barked out, “No!” 

To Jaime, this was a scenario that neither could face. The possibility of Brienne giving birth in the midst of a siege was not a risk he was willing to take for his new family. Not to mention, his father was already waiting for them to arrive at Casterly Rock. Jaime wondered what the Hand would do if he found out his son had gone to fight for Winterfell instead.

The group around the table stared at Jaime, waiting for an explanation of his sudden outburst.

“My father is expecting us at the Rock soon,” he admitted to them. “The longer we wait, the more likely that he will suspect duplicity and send troops up here to find out what happened.”

Clearly irritated, Sansa snapped at Jaime, “Then I will go to up North with Jon now to await the Wildings, allowing you and your wife to go home. That should stop you from receiving any disciplinary action from your father.”

Jaime did not care for her curt words. She made it sound as if they were a couple of errant children. He noticed his wife vehemently shaking her head.

“No, my vow is to watch over you until you are safe. It is too risky for you to go without more protection.” Brienne’s defensive stance belayed that she would not be deterred. Her eyes flicked to Jaime’s, and she bit her lip.

Jaime knew what Brienne was thinking. She was torn between upholding her vow to Catelyn Stark and wanting to ensure the safety of both Jaime and their child.

He also knew where this conversation could lead to. She would probably declare some honorable sacrifice on her part and get them both in trouble.

Before his wife could pledge more oaths that would be dangerous to their collective health, Jaime cut in, “There has to be another way. We cannot wait months for your Wildings to show up when they please, Snow. By the time they get to Winterfell, we could all be skin decorations on Bolton’s walls.” 

Jaime would not chance putting his wife, his child or himself in such a volatile situation. Especially around those who enjoyed flaying their enemies should they be caught. His family name had saved him once from Roose Bolton; Jaime doubted it would work a second time.

Brienne glanced away from her husband’s frown. She was divided between her duty to a dead woman and duty to her own family. But how could she teach her child about honor if she so readily cast her own aside? “I made a promise, so I will stay and defend Winterfell.” Her stubborn gaze was aimed at her husband.

Jaime grounded his teeth preparing to argue with her when Tyrion jumped in, “Well if you are concerned for Lady Sansa’s safety, she and I could always stay here where it’s safe, and you two can go home.” 

Lord Cerwyn interjected. “Of course, the Lady Sansa is always welcome here. But as for the Imp— Well, I have heard of your proclivities, my lord.” His leveled a disapproving glare at the drunken man.

Before Tyrion could whittle the larger man down to his size with sharp words, Sansa spoke up. “I would remind you, Lord Cerwyn, that I am a Lannister as well as a Stark now. I would not have him cast out because of rumors you heard during the war.”

Tyrion glanced at his estranged wife with surprise and pleasure.

Lord Cerwyn looked as if he wanted to say more, but Podrick’s quiet voice broke in, “If we wait here too long, the Boltons will find out that Lady Sansa is here, and they will come for her. We are pushing our luck the longer she stays as it is.”

All nodded in agreement, and Sansa threw Pod a grateful look. 

Jaime noticed Brienne smiling proudly at Pod, but both soon blanched when they saw the look of adoration that was exchanged between the squire and the young lady. 

At least, thought Jaime, Tyrion still seemed oblivious.

Across the table, Jon Snow glared at the Lannister brothers. “What other alternatives do you propose then? It seems that time is against us with all our stratagems.” 

Jaime mused that Snow was probably wondering why he had sided with them in the first place. His thoughts turned inwards, and he tried to think of a new proposal. Snow was right—time was against them. Frustrated, he asked, “Well, what was your plan with the Wildings in concerns to the Dreadfort reinforcements?” 

Jon sat back in his seat hard; arms crossed defensively. “I simply told Tormund to have his people ambush the ones who were laying siege against us at Winterfell.”

“That seems risky.” Jaime did not appreciate that possible scenario. Especially when he had to rely on those he had heard questionable rumors about. So he asked, “Well how was Stannis going to deal with Bolton’s additional men?”

The Lord Commander snorted. “He planned to surprise the reinforcements as they marched to Winterfell. He wanted to make sure they were far enough away from the fortress so they could not retreat to its safety. Alas, we do not have enough men to do so now.”

“Then we need help that is closer,” said Sansa.

“Stannis had been trying to contact the Northern Mountain Clans to ask for their assistance,” Jon admitted.

The young man’s expression was so morose, Jaime could easily guess why. “No luck?”

Jon shook his head. “He could not find them. It seems they have all left the mountains. It is not safe for them anymore.”

A gloom settled over the table. Jaime recalled the abandoned settlements that he and Brienne had stayed in on their way North. And of all the dried blood that had been seen on the ground.

“The North remembers,” Sansa intoned, breaking through their frustrated silence.

“My lady?” Podrick asked.

“Something I have repeatedly heard from the people of these lands.” Sansa stood and began to pace around the room. The action seemed to help corral her thoughts. “Lady Cerwyn said it to the servants to remind them of how serious the situation was during my stay.” 

She stopped and stared at her brother. “What if we get the other noble Lords in the area to ambush the reinforcements from the Dreadfort before they reach Winterfell?”

Jon nodded. “For such a plan, we would still need at least two to three thousand men.” He paused to gauge Lord Cerwyn’s reaction.

“Banded together, the Lords would certainly have enough to do so, even more,” the older Lord acknowledged with a smug smirk. 

The Lannister brothers exchanged a glance. “That is all fine and good,” Tyrion hedged, “but I hardly think they will listen to my brother or myself.” 

The diminutive man then glanced pointedly at Jon who shrugged, “They would never listen to me, I am just a bastard to them.”

Sansa became more animated as she continued to think aloud. “No, I should do it. I could talk to the Northern Lords and convince them to help us.”

An uncertain Jaime shifted in his seat. Besides the more obvious risks, Sansa was still a young girl. “What makes you think they will listen?” He asked.

Sansa turned to him. “I am sure they will help us. They know what it is like to be in the terror of Roose Bolton’s grasp. Besides, I am the rightful heir to Winterfell, and all know that winter is coming and that a Stark should be in power to face it.” 

She stopped pacing and challenged Jaime with a sharp look, reminding him of her mother. “I assume we will have enough time for this to work before Lord Tywin suspects your duplicitous role?”

Jaime snorted. “Depends on how impatient he is.”

Jon frowned at Jaime’s glibness and then said to Sansa, “It is too dangerous to put yourself out there. What if one of them informs the Boltons that you are here?”

Resolute, Sansa insisted, “No, it can work. Lord Cerwyn would know who is trustworthy and who is not.”

Cerwyn fretted by rubbing his hands nervously. “My lady, of course, the Northern Lords can be trusted. But there are still many risks of discovery if you go among them.”

“Do we really have a choice? Besides,” Sansa reminded them, “if I am to be Warden of the North, I must prove that I am not only deserving of the role, but capable, too. My father would not expect any less of me. For I am a Stark, and it is time that I acted as such.”

Around the table, the group was nodding. Sansa was right—they could not succeed without additional men.

Reluctantly, Jon gave in. Looking between Sansa and Lord Cerwyn, he asked, “Alright, does a month give you enough time to gather the Northern Lords together?”

Lord Cerwyn nodded. Sansa beamed, pleased that she succeeded in persuading them.

Jon studied the group around the table. His gaze stopped on Brienne, Jaime, and Podrick. “Then I am entrusting you three to look after my sister. Once rumors circulate about Sansa calling forth an army, it will not just be the Boltons that are out to get her.” 

Now many more would seek her out, including Jaime’s father. There was still a warrant out for her involvement in the murder of King Joffrey.

Jon stared expectantly at Brienne. “I have heard of your vow to Catelyn Stark in regards to my sisters. No harm must come to her, my lady,” he said solemnly. 

Brienne sat up straighter, and Jon could see that she was determined to do her duty. “I will protect her with my life,” she replied.

“Not another bloody vow,” Jaime groaned. 

Brienne looked pointedly at him. Jaime wrinkled his nose at her and then turned to Sansa. “As will we all, my lady,” Jaime said finally. He really needed to talk to his wench when all this was over.

Brienne dipped her head, pleased, and he could not help but grin back at her.

Across the table, Podrick added, “Always.”

Jon sighed, relaxing somewhat. “Good,” he said.

Sansa spoke up, mindful of her future role. “And get word fast to the Wildings beyond the Wall, that whoever helps us will have a safe place to live in Winterfell. Also from now on, they will be known as Free Folk. Maybe that might help speed up the recruitment.”

Jon nodded his thanks at her decree. “That could get more of them to join our cause. I am sure they will prefer fighting anything other than the White Walkers as well as getting a new home for their families.”

The somber mood had lifted somewhat. Jon commanded those at the table once more, “Let us go over the plans.”

Lord Cerwyn addressed the group, “I have detailed maps and such in my study. We could also do with a bit of food before dinner.”

Pleased, Jon smiled, “Yes, my lord. That would be fine.” 

Grateful for the break, the group stood and stretched. Brienne leaned against her husband, her expectant eyes, staring into his. Jaime grinned back and grasped her waist in a brief hug. “Good, if this works out, maybe we won’t have to stay in that drafty Keep for the rest of our lives, wife.” 

They followed the others from the room, hopeful and a little wary. 

*

Once the servants had set out some food for them to pick at, Cerwyn dismissed them with the wave of his hand. One of the retreating maids glanced fleetingly at the unlit fireplace but seemed grateful when she noticed Podrick heading over to it.   
In no time, he had built up a fire in the hearth, adding warmth to the chilled room. By the time they had finished eating, the room was pleasantly warm.

Their hunger temporarily sated—at least until dinner—and their wine cups refilled, the group gathered around the large desk in Cerwyn’s study. The study’s interior was a smaller replica of the main hall. Bookcases with exotic artifacts and bulky old tomes graced the shelves, and family tapestries hung on the walls.

Cerwyn removed a large map from the wall and reverently placed it down onto the wooden surface of his desk. Winterfell was marked clearly with the head of the wolf. The group stared at the map in silence. It seemed no one was exactly sure how to proceed.

Clearing his throat, Jaime’s calm voice broke through the apprehension in the room. “Brienne and I had gone to Winterfell on our way to the Wall to get a lay of the premises.”

Jaime glanced over to his wife. After a nod from her, he began to recount what they saw. “There were at least three hundred sellswords garrisoned there. Though most were outside of the walls, another fifty were stationed within. And all were well armed."

Jon Snow took this in. “Good, good. And by using the cover of darkness, my group will make short work of those men outside.” 

“Then the hard part, waiting.” Tyrion sarcastically said with a loud exhale, staring into his goblet.  
Jon patted the small lord’s shoulder. “At least we will have the easy job, my friend.”

Snorting, Tyrion shrugged, trying to quell the fear that the thought of battle brought forth. He gulped his wine down and then searched the room for more. Finding a jug perched on the side table, he waddled over to it.

As he grasped the heavy container and carried it over to the table, Tyrion mused distractedly, “Then that just leaves the Dreadfort.” 

All sighed at the mention of that fortified Keep. It was obvious that he was not the only one anxious about the situation.   
Discouraged, Jaime sighed. “Yes, and depending on how many men we can get from the Northern Lords in such a short time, we might need another contingency plan.” 

Tyrion poured a generous helping of wine into his cup. Jaime indicated with a flick of his gaze that his cup was empty as well. Happy to have someone to drink with, Tyrion filled Jaime’s goblet to match his own.

Climbing onto a well-cushioned chair next to Sansa, Tyrion took a hearty swallow of fortifying wine. With a pleased sigh, he leaned back and stared up at the ornate ceiling.

Jon grimaced at Tyrion and focused on the map before them. “If we only get two thousand men, Stannis’ strategy of ambushing the Dreadfort reinforcements as they march to Winterfell might work.”

Jaime nodded and took a small sip of wine. “Yes, the old tactic of hit and run would be perfect for us to use in this case.”

Studying the map, Jon pointed out a few places that would be good for a trap. “To reach Winterfell, the sellswords will have to march through this narrow valley here.”

Jaime gestured at the surrounding forest. “Yes, we can box them in by sealing off both sides, then use archers to pick them off, or have the men drop heavy objects on them. The remaining can be taken care of by riders and footman.” 

The one handed lord shook his head, and took another mouthful of wine. It had been a long time since he had led any military campaigns. Worse, he had no idea how he was supposed to command men that viewed the Lannisters less than favorably.  
Eyeing Sansa, Jaime asked her, “Are you up to leading them, my lady?” 

Startled, her eyes widen. It was clear she was trying to be brave as she replied, “I am afraid I will have to leave that sort of thing to you, my lord.”

Jaime regarded her evenly. At least she was honest about her abilities. 

“Then let us hope they are as forgiving as the Starks are when it comes to the Lannister name,” he bit out. Several individuals around the desk shot him disapproving glances, including his wife. He shrugged an apology and took another swig of wine.

Jon steered their conversation back to the issue at hand. “Alright, then here is the plan. Tyrion and I will take Winterfell and then wait for your arrival. If you are unable to get enough men to attack or ambush the Dreadfort reinforcements, then come up to Winterfell right away.” 

With a resigned sigh, he added, “We will all just have to wait for the Wildings to free us, then.”

Both Lannister brothers stared glumly at one another and then raised their goblets in unison at the less than ideal outcome.

*

An hour later, and after Tyrion had consumed most of the wine, the group finished hammering out the finer details in their various plans of attack.

Jaime felt unease with the situation. Everything hinged on the kindness of strangers—the Wildings, the Northern Lords. People that had no loyalty to the Lannisters, or anyone else actually. He would need an emergency plan for his family should there be any issues. 

As he stifled a yawn, Jaime figured maybe he could pick his brother’s crafty mind before Tyrion left in the early morning. Because of time constraints, it was agreed that the sooner the two Night’s Watch men left, the better. They still had a long journey back up North before they were to prepare for the attack on Winterfell. 

His brother… Jaime reflected that at one time, he would have never doubted Tyrion’s predictableness when it came to saving his own skin. Now, though, it seemed that Tyrion’s time at the Wall and battling White Walkers might have changed him enough to risk his life for others. It was admirable, if not a little stupid and a little troubling.

Before Jaime could seek his brother out to discuss this, a maid entered the room and curtsied. “My lords and ladies, dinner is served.”

Tyrion rubbed his small hands together and staggered from the room. The others’ jubilation seemed forced as they streamed from the room, leaving the less-than-happy newlyweds behind.

Jaime noticed that his wife stayed in front of the fireplace, staring intently at the flames.

He studied her hunched shoulders and distracted gaze, and grew concerned. 

As he approached her, he asked, “What is it, wife?”

She sighed heavily, “Perhaps you should head home now and I will finish carrying out my vow.”

“What, and miss out on all the fun, wench?” She must be joking. He frowned when she still would not turn his way.

Her tone was low with emotion, “But you nearly died, Jaime. This will be so dangerous. And we could be stuck at Winterfell for a long time.” 

He tugged on her arm until she turned and focused on him. “I will not let you out of my sight again, Brienne. Regardless of where we are, for however long it is, we will never be apart again.” Jaime tilted her chin up with his gnarled, bandaged wrist. “Besides, we look after each other so well.”

Brienne smiled briefly and then her scowl slid back into place. 

Jaime smirked, “I see I will have to use an old archaic method to prove this to you.” He really wished he had the energy to ravish that frown from her face. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her long enough to relax her features somewhat.

Pulling back enough to hug her tight, he chuckled into her neck, “Gods; it will certainly task my patience being stuck at Winterfell for all those months.”

Her tone was shy. “Well, I have heard they have magnificent thermal pools.”

Kissing her neck he then reverently rubbed his nose against her warm skin. “That is why we get along wonderfully, wench. We know each other so well.”

To ensure she could not doubt his feelings, he kissed her more deeply; the force of it stealing her breath away. Brienne returned his affections hungrily, and her hands began to roam over Jaime’s shoulders and down his backside.

Just then, Tyrion poked his head into the room. “Alright you two,” he said loudly, chuckling. “Supper first, then dessert.”

Startled, Brienne quickly stumbled back. Jaime could feel the heat of her blush as she attempted to hide her ardor.

Smirking, Jaime grabbed her hand to lead her from the room. As he passed his brother, he said, “We need to talk before you leave in the morrow.” 

The smile dropped from Tyrion’s face, and he nodded solemnly, following them from the room.

Besides coming up with a contingency plan, Jaime wished to examine his brother’s sudden penchant for risk-taking. Hopefully, Brienne’s sense of honorable self-sacrifice was not catching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I could not find the exact number of reinforcements housed at the Dreadfort. My apologies if it too off the mark. Alas, I have already written the story with that number in mind, so I guess I am keeping it %;-)


	7. Northern Lords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - Things are about to live up to the rating of explicit.

During the next few weeks, Sansa waited impatiently to hear back from the Northern Lords. Sadly, there were not as many left as there had once been. In addition to those killed at the Red Wedding with Robb Stark, many others had fled the area, possibly down south where it was safer for them.

Those that remained had been subjugated by the new Warden of the North. Roose Bolton was not one who appreciated those who questioned his new power. And no one ever wanted a visit from Ramsay Bolton and his elite enforcers. Sansa wished to be the leader she was expected to be, but, in truth, she wondered if the Northern Lords would help her cause now. 

She missed her brother’s presence and, surprisingly, even Lord Tyrion’s. But they had left the next morning after the decision had been made to pursue the other nobility in their plans.

Sansa breathed a heavy sigh of relief when word finally reached Lord Cerwyn that, yes; there were still surviving nobles who wished to take back the North. They would attend a clandestine gathering and hear what Sansa had to say.

Because of the distances involved, they agreed to meet in secret at a location near to the homestead on the last day of the month.

They were cutting it close with the time-frame against Winterfell’s attack, but Sansa was sure it was worth the risk.  
Meanwhile, their time at Cerwyn’s estate was put to good use.

A mended Jaime was back to sparring against Brienne and he used his specialized cuff holder to fight with. His stump was still tender, and he grimaced at every blow Brienne delivered to it. But he was adamant that he would be ready to lead the attack against the Dreadfort reinforcements. And that meant being at full strength and having functional fighting capabilities.

Sansa had been reluctant to trust Jaime with the task of commanding the noble’s soldiers. It would be difficult enough to convince the Northern Lords to cooperate without a Lannister leading the charge. She finally relented to Jaime’s leadership after taking Brienne’s counsel. Jaime did have a lot of experience when it came to leading successful campaigns, and he had proven his loyalty to Sansa more than once. She would trust him and pray to the Seven that it wasn’t a mistake.

Alas, when it came to her own mistakes, she was reluctant to acknowledge them. She knew it was wrong to show interest in Podrick and that it went against their plans, but she really liked him more than just as a friend. 

Besides being the only one near to her age that she could talk to on that island of sapphire waters, he had been nice to her and genuinely cared for her. Even when she was stuck in that horrid King’s Landing situation, he had shown her a kindness that few had during her stay. Most either wanted something from her or to abuse her.

It was not hard to miss the disapproving side-eye cast her way by Brienne and Jaime. She knew they were frustrated that she and Podrick were close, but one could not help what the heart desired.

Unfortunately, if she was to successfully rule Winterfell, she would have to end it, but that did not mean she had to crush her dreams now. Brienne tried to talk to her out of the relationship, but Sansa begged to be given this short time, for she would not have this chance at love for much longer. Understanding young love, Brienne could not deny her that, but feared she might go in too deep and never want to come back up for air.

Sansa understood that she would have to eventually grow up, especially since she was demanding that others treat her as an adult. She sighed, and wistfully wondered what her future would hold. 

The loud knock on the door awoke her from her thoughts. She recognized the curt rap as being from Brienne, which meant that it was time to meet with the Northern Lords.

*

It was late afternoon when Sansa finally met with the nobility.

Lord Cerwyn introduced her as if he was in charge, which made Sansa bristle. The Cerwyns had been fair to her and her friends, but there were times when it seemed as if he wanted to pat her head and tell her to go play with dolls, and to leave the conflict to the grownups.

Alas, with so much on the line, she would have to remain resilient and courteous for now.

As Sansa formally greeted the nobles, Brienne and Podrick stood sentry behind her. Her other guards were positioned at the entry ways.

Jaime would have gone, but he was too infamous. If this played how she wanted, Sansa would introduce him at a later time.   
Sansa knew that Brienne found it difficult to leave Jaime behind. But she needed Brienne’s protection. And so Brienne donned the same disguise she wore when she and Jaime had arrived at Lord Cerwyn’s castle. She stood behind Sansa with her arms crossed over her chest, tall and imposing.

True to form, the lords ignored Brienne as if she were just another sellsword. This also worked to Sansa’s favor. Many of the nobles present had sided with Stannis in his earlier plans to overthrow the Boltons. If the nobles knew that the warrior woman who had killed their ‘savior’ was in attendance now, they would never follow Sansa.

The meeting had begun cordially enough, with most of the Northern Lords exchanging pleasantries with her. 

It was after Sansa had informed them that her own group would retake Winterfell that the mood of those in the room changed. Reading their stern features and manners, it became apparent that the lords had their own agenda. 

Sure enough, before she could discuss the nobles’ role in the attack, Beron, a sergeant from the House of Dustin snidely interrupted her, “I think you should let us handle Winterfell, my lady.”

Ignoring his rude dismissal, Sansa ground out, “I assure you that our plan is well-thought out. We will succeed in Bolton’s removal, but it will take all of us working as one to make sure he stays gone.”

“Maybe it is best if we do not risk challenging King Tommen’s ally, right now,” said Hallis Mollen. The man had been captain of the guard to Sansa’s mother. He would always see Sansa as the little girl glancing shyly at boys.

Sansa leveled a cool glare at him. Hallis had the decency to falter and look away. Barely concealing her contempt for the man, Sansa said harshly, “You returned my father’s bones to Winterfell for my mother. Did you leave your courage there along with his remains?”

Maybe it was not just their own arrogance that had them reacting as such. Sansa had a feeling that they believed her to be too immature to be involved. As if to confirm her suspicions, Lord Howland Reed spoke for the group, “Are you sure you are up to the challenge, my lady? The Boltons are a fierce, prideful people with many supporters.”

Frustrated, Sansa could not help but snap, “Am I a wolf cub to you? No, my allies and I will have no problem retaking Winterfell. But we cannot hold off his reinforcements from the Dreadfort – not without more men. Not without your help.”

The Lord of Greywater Watch had the good grace to appear chastised, but he did not commit his men to the fight. Not yet.

Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbor seemed to think that, since he was from the richest House in the North, he should have the biggest say in this. “And what then, my lady?” He boomed, looking at the other men in the room before turning to direct his words at her. “Once you retake Winterfell from the Lannister supporter, Bolton, the Hand will send his own troops to take it back from you. More blood will be shed, more innocent blood.”

Though it galled her to admit this, Sansa said, “I am sure you know that I am still married to Lord Tyrion Lannister. He will rule by my side, and his presence will keep Tywin Lannister from attacking us.”

The men grumbled at the word ‘marriage.’

Lord Rodrik Ryswell nearly shouted out in anger, “If we do as you ask, then we will yet again be subservient to the Lannisters! This only proves that you are too young to make such decisions for House.” This made it clear that the nobles viewed her only as a child, even those still faithful to the Starks.

Leaning forward, she leveled a glare at Ryswell. “I might be too young, but at least I am willing to do something about it.”   
Seeing their lack of interest, Sansa spat, “Then you wish to remain under Bolton’s rule?” She could not believe they would want such a dangerous yoke for their people.

Lord Wyman gave her a forced, overly-polite smile. “We will take it from here, Lady Stark,” he said dismissively. “It would be wise if you went back into hiding, where it is safe.”

Brienne had been observing the exchange in dutiful silence. But at Lord Wyman’s threatening sneer, she stepped up to Sansa’s shoulder and pulled her sword an inch from its hilt in a warning. She did not like the way these men dismissed Sansa, as if the lady had not experienced enough suffering. And it was not as if were her own people hadn’t been subjected to Bolton’s cruelty.

Lord Wyman looked nervously at Brienne’s hip. The lord from House Holt jumped up from the table.

“Tell your man to stand down,” he snapped.

Sansa glanced over her shoulder at Brienne and imperceptibly shook her head. The warrior woman reluctantly did as Sansa bid. Brienne relaxed back against the wall, but her hand never left her pommel and her eyes never left Lord Wyman.

The air around the room was tense now, but Sansa barreled on. “If needs be,” she said firmly, “I will take this to the people.” 

The Lord Ryswell sputtered in outrage at her threat. “You seem to think that the suffering we endured under Bolton’s rule would be so easily countered. Do you not think that we have tried to chase them away already? Lord Stannis had been our best hope for success, not you.”

Indignantly, Sansa began to stutter, “It was not as if I was on holiday–”

Lord Wyman began to rise from his seat, and Sansa could see that he had already shut her out. “Again, you Stark pups are too immature to be handling things,” he grumbled. “We will take it from here, my lady.”

Sansa was surprised by his reticence. He was supposedly one of her family’s most ardent supporters. What had changed? Her father had garnered the respect and command of these men. Now they were treating her as a simple figurehead. That would never do.

“My family has been the Wardens of the North for generations, “she said loudly, and Lord Wyman finally looked at her. “I promise you that a Stark will once again rule Winterfell — and only a Stark.” 

Brienne smiled at Sansa’s passion; it reminded her so much of Lady Catelyn. Around the room, the men did not seem as impressed. They glared at Lady Sansa and griped amongst themselves.

Sansa’s voice rose over their whispered arguments. “We already have enough to take Winterfell,” she said pleadingly. “We only need your help to ambush the reinforcements from Dreadfort. Tell me if you will help us or not.”

Several lords snorted in derision. Lord Manderly rolled his eyes. “We shall discuss amongst ourselves and get back to you, my lady.”

Clearly dismissed, Sansa scowled as the liege lords turned away from her. A few nodded to Sansa out of sheer politeness but most ignored her completely. Brienne had to bite her cheek to keep from forcing them to show proper respect to her lady.

Sansa dipped her head in frustration. She stood, and her small party left the supercilious nobles to themselves. Once away from prying eyes, she glanced angrily over at Brienne. Already their plans were failing before they’d even had a chance to try.

Sensing Sansa’s mood, Brienne said, “They are fools, my lady.” 

Sansa’s voice was hard. “As am I for believing they had spines.”

*

Realizing they were at an impasse, Sansa and her small group of friends and advisors retired to Lord Cerwyn’s study. Seated before a roaring fire, they had spoken of desperate plans.

After much ineffectual back and forth, they now sat despondent. Already they were passing a pitcher of wine around the room. Only Brienne declined imbibing — even Sansa had filled a goblet. Though she had never enjoyed the taste of wine, Sansa now found it only half as bitter as the afternoon’s events.

They really needed those additional fighters. 

Brienne had been sitting quietly by Sansa’s side. Unable to stay still any longer, she stood and stalked towards Lord Cerwyn’s large desk. A map of the northern land was propped on the surface of the smooth wooden surface. Various markers representing the different Houses surrounded the drawing of the Dreadfort.

Across the room, Lord Cerwyn grumbled, “I know the lords have enough soldiers to help us. Damn their stubborn pride!”

Brienne’s gaze never left the map. “The rich never want to get their hands dirty, “she growled. “Even if you promise them each a seat at your council, they will never get personally involved.”

Sansa nodded in frustration. “But I need their support when I am made Warden of the North.”

Jaime had been staring blindly into the fire. He shook himself. “No, my lady,” he reminded her. “Once you are Warden, they will need you. But it is all moot now, anyway.”

Ever the optimist, Podrick spoke up. “There must be something we can do against the Dreadfort.”

Brienne said quietly, “Too bad we cannot just burn the thing to the ground.”

“Wife, it is impenetrable.”

“But is it vulnerable from within?” Brienne added stubbornly.

Worried about the trajectory of her thoughts, Jaime said, “There is no way to get in.”

Brienne’s index finger poked so hard against the map, that she almost ripped a hole in the spot that marked the Dreadfort. “If there is a will, there is a way.” 

Jaime noticed the dent his wife’s meaty finger had made in the center of the Dreadfort. He spotted Lord Cerwyn scowling at her actions and knew the man was not amused by the damage to his prized map.

Suddenly, Brienne glanced up in surprise. “What is this small squiggly line that leads into the Dreadfort?” She asked Lord Cerwyn.

Cerwyn lurched to his feet and staggered over to Brienne. After studying the map, he drunkenly shook his head. “Sorry, my lady. That just shows the underground spring that cools the fortress’s subterranean thermals. Not even a mouse could fit through there.”

Sansa was clutching her goblet to her chest, her cheeks pink with wine. She laughed tipsily. “My mother always hated the Boltons. Said she wished those damn thermals of theirs would clog and blow.”

Brienne raised a pale eyebrow. “Oh?”

Sansa nodded. “Mother claimed that a clogged volcanic vent would cause more damage than anything a pyromancer could come up with. She was so paranoid about the underground thermals at Winterfell that she had the bath flues routinely cleaned out, just in case. Said all it took was for a tiny plug and the buildup would blow Winterfell to the Gods.”

Jaime smirked at the thought, but Lord Cerwyn glanced up quickly. “That actually did happen at one of the older castles up North,” he recalled. “They had not been doing the proper upkeep and half of the castle was destroyed from the explosion.”

He noticed Brienne’s hopeful expression and frowned. Drunken desires aside, he could not see something so ridiculous working. “The buildup must have taken years,” Jaime said. 

Cerwyn, clearly inebriated, nodded encouragingly at the memory. “Yes, it was quite an explosion. But do we want the Dreadfort destroyed? That might be the last holding place against the White Walkers, should they come this far south.”

The northern defenses were meant to prevent invasions from the south, not from anything coming at their backs.

“Yes,” Sansa huffed angrily. “That accursed castle should be razed to the ground. It is proven that those who reside in it become a traitor to the North. The Flayed Man is a blight to our lands.”

“I know you think this is right,” Cerwyn argued, “but you cannot let your emotions rule such a decision.”

Sansa glowered at the stubborn lord, feeling like she was back in a room full of disapproving men. “Roose Bolton is a parasitic tick,” she said angrily. “If he and his men burrow in there, we will never be rid of him.”

While they bickered, Jaime mulled over the thought of how pissed his father would be if they destroyed one of the most formidable keeps in the North. Lord Tywin would already lose his foothold in the North if the Boltons were gone — the loss of the Dreadfort would just add salt to the wound.

“Even if we could somehow get in and destroy it,” Jaime interrupted, “how do we prevent the men that escape from heading North to take Winterfell? Snow’s forces would barely be able to hold Winterfell now — what will he do if we send our adversaries north earlier than planned?”

“They will head up there eventually,” Brienne replied thoughtfully. “Why let them do so later when they are organized and ready for the fight? Why not weaken them now by killing as many as we can.” 

Jaime shook his head. “And then what? For how long could we stay holed up in Winterfell?”

Brienne grounded her teeth, annoyed that Jaime was being so persistent. “Until they recognize that a Lannister and a Stark now rule there.”

“That would not deter them,” Jaime argued. “We could be kicking a hornet’s nest, wife. Regardless, the men from the Dreadfort would overrun the lands around Winterfell, if not the castle itself.”

“Good,” Brienne snorted, “maybe that will finally force the nobility to get involved.”

“Doubtful,” Jaime groused, which earned him a glare from Lord Cerwyn.

“Those are my friends,” said the old lord.

Jaime’s shrug was dismissive. “And horrible allies to the Starks, my lord.”

Indignant, Cerwyn felt the need to defend his people against this upstart Lannister lion. “They might still help.”

“On terms that are not acceptable.” Jaime would not back down, and Brienne wondered who the more obstinate one in their family was now.

Sansa ignored their pissing contest. “I know the people would help if we could get word to them.”

Shaking his head, Jaime reasoned out, “And risk being found out so close to the attack on Winterfell?”

“The people can help us by having them slip something into the refugees’ drinks to put them to sleep or death,” Sansa replied harshly. “I care not how they die.”

Jaime started laughing. “This whole idea is absurd. We have to figure something else out to aid your brother, my lady.” He paused and rubbed his chin in mock thought. “I know! We can go door to door inquiring for assistance! Maybe some little wayward shepherd would deem to help us?” 

He guffawed at his jest, but he was the only one who found it amusing, the others too absorbed in their own tremulous thoughts.

Brienne was staring at the map again, her brow furrowed. Cerwyn took another big gulp of wine and Podrick and Sansa now quietly stared at the fire.

Taking in their silence, Jaime stated emphatically, “We cannot take out the Dreadfort on our own. There are too many variables.” He wished there was another way, but it was too dangerous. “I am sorry, Sansa, but the nobles have refused to get involved. We will just have to take our chances at Winterfell. Somehow, we must prevail against Bolton’s siege until help arrives.” The thought made Jaime down the rest of the goblets contents. 

Jaime turned imploringly toward his wife for comfort. But Brienne was quiet, and that worried Jaime more than anything they would meet up North.

*

The drunken gathering finally winded down. Leaving the others dozing in their chairs, Jaime and Brienne headed for bed. Jaime could tell by the stubborn set of her shoulders that Brienne was not done with their debate.

Jaime had just shut the door to their bedroom when Brienne turned to face him.

“We need to try to take the Dreadfort out ourselves, Jaime.”

A hint of anger tinged his tone when he said, “There’s my blood thirsty wench.”

He stalked towards the bed. “What we have to accomplish at Winterfell will be perilous enough, wife.”

“I would rather take my chances fighting now while I am able, then being trapped in Winterfell, swelling with child,” she spat and stomped over to the lit hearth.

Tired, Jaime sat down on the bed and began to pull off his heavy boots. “I know what you are doing, Brienne. Do not let your guilt make you do foolish things.” 

Stubbornly, Brienne glared at the fire blazing in the grate and did not answer.

Jaime figured that perhaps a different approach was needed here. “My lady, we have been tasked to escort Sansa to Winterfell—”

She turned to face him again and Jaime eyed her as she toed off her boots. “Bolton betrayed Catelyn Stark, Jaime.” 

Brienne was removing her breeches now, tugging angrily at the laces. “And do you not want revenge against that bastard for your hand?”

It was Locke who’d taken Jaime’s hand, not Bolton. But he didn’t say that aloud. Brienne knew it well enough. She was in the throes of righteous indignation now, and he knew how bad that obsession could get. Regardless, Locke had disappeared long ago, and it did no good to ponder what ifs.

“You are not picking up that mantle now, wife,” Jaime snapped.

“Roose and the Freys owe a debt of blood to the Starks, Jaime. And Bolton was still responsible for the actions of his men in regards to your hand. You cannot deny that.” Shrugging out of her tunic, she stood naked and defiant in front of him.

“Brienne—” Jaime sighed. He ignored the small, lecherous voice that told him to give in. He forgot how much he was turned on by Brienne’s fierceness and he had to fight back the impulse to give into her.

Instead he used his anger to push past his own weakness. “Are you now grabbing at any oath you can find, wench? Why must you constantly place yourself in harm’s way? Is it because of the babe?”

She looked away.

“Tell me, Brienne, please.” 

He knew that it was Brienne’s damn sense of nobility that demanded she make risky amends for killing Stannis. Just because he understood her, didn’t mean that he agreed.

Jaime also knew she would never rest until things were righted. She had shown in the past the inability to think of anything but the goal at hand. She would be miserable until she sacrificed herself on some honorable notion. But neither she nor Jaime could be so single-minded now.

“Brienne,” he said, “would you rather seek revenge for a dead woman or carry out your oath to return her daughter to safety?"  
“Jaime —” Brienne’s hand flexed at her side as if it itched for the pommel of her sword.

But he could not fight her that way right now, and she knew it — not while she was pregnant. Instead, Jaime swung at her with words and reason.

“There comes a time when we must assume the responsibilities of our Houses,” he told her, “Sansa knows this; it’s why she’s willing to wait for the Northern Lords. For us, it means ensuring our family line lives on.”

Her brow softened, although her mouth was still turned down.

“Consider before you follow this new pledge to your death; that you should honor the vow you gave me when we married, first.”

Brienne met his eyes with a challenging scowl and stubborn silence. Jaime ignored her glower and tugged off his breeches, kicking out of them in frustration.

“You know I am right,” he said, yanking off his tunic.

Eyes still blazing, she watched as he climbed into bed. He lifted the sheets for her to join him. Brienne stayed where she was, and Jaime wondered if he would be sleeping alone tonight. After a chilly moment, she moved forward.

“I will obey my vow to you, my lord husband,” she growled and slipped under the covers without another word.

They lay next to one another, neither touching the other. Instead, they both glared at the ceiling, lost in their own furious thoughts. 

Jaime angrily turned on his side, his back to her.

It was not as if he, too, hadn’t been thinking about possible solutions to the Dreadfort problem.

His wench was not the only one who had made a promise to Catelyn Stark to protect her children. And he could not go against his honor anymore; it was a pledge he had made to his wife and unborn child all those weeks ago.

After a few moments of staring sullenly at the wall, Jaime felt the dip of the bed as Brienne shifted closer to him. Her hot breath tickled the hairs on the nape of his neck. She leaned over and her lips ghosted up along the line of his jaw. 

The sensation made his toes curl, and he turned his head to grant her more access.

They were both panting when she lightly bit his ear and blew into it.

Was she trying to distract him from their argument? Or was she trying to persuade him to her side? Regardless, he liked this boldness from his wench.

Unable to resist her advances, Jaime turned his face towards her. Brienne brushed her lips against his bearded cheek and then she kissed his lips. 

Matching the intensity of her kiss, Jaime pushed his tongue into her welcoming mouth. He wound an arm around her and pulled her flush against his body. His left hand slid down her side and cupped her ass squeezing it, which caused her to moan.

Suddenly, her hands began to roam up and down his body. He did not resist when she pressed him onto his back. 

Jaime raised his eyebrows when Brienne suddenly moved over him and straddled his waist. “Using your feminine wiles to change my mind, wench?” 

She smiled coquettishly but did not reply. Jaime inhaled as she began to slowly rub the damp apex between her thighs against his slightly erect cock.

Leaning over, Brienne licked and lightly nipped his chest. Unable to help himself, Jaime pushed his head into the mattress and groaned. “I will not bend to your will so easily, wife.” 

She dared him with a small quirk of her mouth. “We shall see.” 

Still smirking, Brienne reached down and began to carefully fondle his shaft with her hand. By her actions, it seemed that his wife had learned a few new things. And by the indication of how hard he was getting, her method was working.

As he felt himself losing the battle, he panted up at her, “How would we even get in—?”

Her sharp blue eyes bore into his. “The Lannisters are allies to the Boltons, aren’t they?” She asked, moving her hand faster now. “And we did just kill their enemy— we would be welcomed as heroes.”

Licking his lips, he groaned when she released him. “You think I am good enough to get us in?”

She leered down at him. “I think you could talk your way into just about anything, husband.” 

He laughed, pleasantly surprised at her jest. As she positioned him at just the right spot and lowered herself onto him, both moaned. 

“It is still too risky,” he gasped as she rose upwards. “How would we even destroy it?”

“We are good at improvisation,” she replied breathlessly.

“True.” He chuckled. “I was worried that you would suggest Lady Sansa’s idea to block their thermals.”

She smiled at that and sank back onto him.

Grabbing her hips to still her, he said seriously, “Regardless of our exceptional abilities, wife, there would still be too many to escape from. And a suicide mission is not acceptable. There are three of us now.”

He could tell from her displeased look that she wanted to argue further. Instead, she growled out, “How long will you use this pregnancy against me?”

His green eyes earnestly stared into hers. “As many times as it takes to keep you alive. I will not lose you. Either of you.”

Angry about their situation, Brienne pulled his hand from her hip and trapped it and his stump above his head. 

Clearly frustrated, she rode him hard. This time, Jaime dared not try to stop her again. He had seen the shift in her eyes — she knew that he was right this time. To infiltrate the Dreadfort meant death for them both.

Always up for a challenge, Jaime gave himself over to Brienne’s angry passion. He met every plunge, thrust, cry and groan as if they were sparring on a training ring instead of a bed. Though his arms were trapped, his legs weren’t. He planted his feet behind her, which granted him the leverage to now buck up into her, thus adding more strength to their battle. He was not lying when he said they were in this together.

She growled at his impudence and slammed down harder on him. Showing teeth, Jaime then intensified his thrusts and soon both were loudly gasping, nearing the precipice of release.

Finally, with a sudden, loud cry, Brienne clasped her thighs tightly around his waist. As she came, her taut inner muscles milked his shaft, causing him to join her in going over the edge in ecstasy. When it was over, she released his hand and leaned over him, trembling. 

“I think I like our new way of solving disagreements, wife,” Jaime mused, running his hand up her sweaty back.

He felt Brienne’s low chuckle rumbled against his chest as she rolled off of him. “Yes, and there is the added bonus that we should be able to sleep easier.”

With a grin aimed at his always pragmatic wife, Jaime reached over to cover them with the blankets. They cuddled close, and though relaxed, their problems still remained.

Each was resigned to the fact that there was nothing they could do. In a few days, they would have to leave for Winterfell and take their chances.

Suddenly, Brienne threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. Frustrated tears streamed down her face. Whether they were due to the pregnancy or the situation they faced, Jaime could not say.

“It will all work out, my beloved,” he promised, kissing her damp forehead. 

“I just feel so useless,” she said miserably. “It was my actions at the Wall that got us into this mess.” 

As Jaime tucked himself closer to her, he caressed the slight swell of her belly. “I understand the guilt, Brienne, but you were protecting our child. The North can damn itself for all I care where the two of you are involved.” 

“It just might,” she whispered as she let him hold her.

“Trust me, wench,” he said, his voice muffled slightly against her matted hair. “We will complete our oath to keep the Lady Sansa safe, and we will get her to Winterfell so she can rule. Other things are out of our control. They will happen as they will.”

Wearily, she nodded. In the comfort of his embrace, Brienne soon drifted to sleep. But Jaime could not rest, and he continued to mull the situation over.

He agreed with her that they needed to make the situation right, but he just had no idea on how to knock out that reinforcement garrison of Bolton’s. How could their small group accomplish such a task? It was a crazy notion, even for him.

He snorted softly. Brienne had been right to ask where her impulsive knight had rushed off too. A few years ago, Jaime would have been the first one to dash head first into a fight against the Dreadfort. Now, though—

Maybe they should just let the Starks deal with it. Besides, Jon had assured them that the Wildings would be there in a few months to lend help. Technically, he and the wench would have completed their pledge to return Sansa to Winterfell by then.   
They had even ended the usurper Stannis’ reign and— 

No. Brienne’s insistence on making right was correct. It was their fault that Jon’s men were now lacking the troops they needed to retake Winterfell. They owed it to Jon and Sansa to see it through to the end.

As if sensing he was still awake, Brienne shifted in her sleep. She draped part her strong body protectively on top of him. It was a position that made Jaime feel safe. Despite the problematic thoughts that continued to assail his mind, his eyes grew heavy and it wasn’t long before he fell into a deep sleep.

That was until hours later when a loud voice bellowed from outside their window jolted them both awake.

“We know you have Sansa Stark in there,” a man yelled, “and we want her now!” There was a cheer as if a crowd was with him. The cheers died down, and the man continued shouting. “If you do not bring her out, we will come in and take her!”

Jumping from the bed, Jaime raced to the window, Brienne following closely. It was still the pitch black of night, but they could just make out the shapes of a large host of men holding torches outside the castle gate. At the front of the group, a man rode forward on a gray horse. Behind him, the Flayed Man undulated on a banner of red.

“Ramsay Bolton,” Brienne spat.

“And he is not alone,” said Jaime, feeling his stomach drop as a small group of rider’s moved out of the shadows to join Ramsay at his side.

It seemed that the Brave Companions had decided to join Ramsay in the hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it could not be said enough about all the hard Beta work Bergamot has done on these. Thank you chica! You rock!
> 
> and then a small reminder that I can never let anything go, so any mistakes are mine :-)


	8. Fight or Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because they were never given names on the TV show, I am going to use the Bloody Mummers names from the books. But since Rorge (Locke) and Biter are dead in the series, they are here as well.

As the occupants of the castle awoke, Ramsay Bolton continued to yell taunts and threats up at them. “Come now, Lady Sansa, no reason to hide any longer! Come down here and enjoy my company. I promise not to hurt you.” There was the sound of muted laughter from his companions. 

Jaime winced. He recognized the Bloody Mummers mounted next to the young lord — Shagwell the Fool, and Locke’s second, Urswyck; Zollo the fat Dothraki, and the spearman from Dorne, Timeon.

Jaime ground his teeth so hard that, there was a sharp grating sound.

Brienne paled at the sight of them. Her right hand squeezed Jaime’s arm in restraint. “Another time, husband. Come.”

He nodded wordlessly, and they rushed about their room, preparing to either flee or fight. Neither option appealed to Jaime, the risk now so great that he feared for their lives. 

Hastily, they shrugged into their clothes and donned their weapons. Jaime struggled to pull on his wrist cuff, for his right stump was still a bit swollen and tender. Brienne helped him lash the leather ties around his shoulder and tighten them. It was a snug fight, but he gruffly nodded his thanks. 

Making sure they had everything; Brienne tossed her small pack over her shoulder.

Exiting their room, they brushed by the few servants that stumbled through the hallway in shock. The bastard’s yells were barely heard over their fearful murmurs.

“Wakey, wakey, time for some fun!”

Knocking as they entered, Brienne and Jaime pushed into Sansa’s room. Pulling up in surprise, they noticed that Podrick had just finished dressing and that Sansa was almost done as well. Brienne blushed and turned away, waiting until Jaime moved back into the hallway with the two young people following close behind. They said nothing about the awkward scene and instead led them down the stairs.

Sansa’s four guards joined their party as they rushed to the last step on the ground floor.

As the small group approached the main hall, they heard Lord Cerwyn arguing quietly with his wife, who was pleading with him, “No, you must not—”

“It is the only way. My men will not be able to keep that many out for long. I have to buy her more time—”

Seeing them near, Lord Cerwyn stopped trying to mollify his wife and instead focused on the group before him. “My wife will show you an old escape route that will take you out of the castle and deep into the woods. Use it and get to safety.”

Concerned, Sansa inquired, “And what of you, my lord?”

“My role is to stay here and keep that bastard busy,” Lord Cerwyn replied gruffly. “Now go. I have deployed archers and my soldiers to confront them, but they will soon be overwhelmed.” He filled a cup with wine for fortification, and Jaime was tempted to join him. 

Instead, Jaime growled, “How did they find out?”

Cerwyn drained the cup and then said, “Either there was a traitor amongst the nobles or one of them was tortured for the information.”

“Gods!” Now Jaime feared that the Boltons knew about the raid on Winterfell. 

Resting his hand on the older lord’s shoulder, Jaime warned, “They must not discover anything.”

With a grim nod, Lord Cerwyn began to head towards the back of the room. “Don’t worry.” Resigned, he removed a small vial of clear liquid that was hidden behind the bookshelf. He held it up for all to see.

Horrified at what he intended to do, his wife begged him once more, “No; please do not do this. There is still time…”

As if the fates had made the decision for them, there was a loud crack as the outer gates finally splintered open. Their heads pivoted in the direction of the courtyard. Outside, they could hear the screams as Cerwyn’s men died, trying to keep the Bolton sellswords at bay. 

Cerwyn glanced at his wife and then told Jaime, “Though the poison will take some time to affect me, I will die before he can get any information out of me.”

Numb, Jaime exhaled and nodded his thanks.

Sansa, though, refused to accept Lord Cerwyn’s decision. “There has to be another way!”

“No, my lady,” replied Cerwyn sadly, “I am afraid this is our only option.” He clasped her hands in his stubby ones and lightly shook them. “I do this for you, my lady. A Stark will rule the North once again.”

Quickly he released her hands and stepped back. 

Stunned by his sacrifice, Sansa promised, “You will not be forgotten, my lord.” 

Exchanging a sweet kiss with his wife, Cerwyn gently pushed her away from him. “Now go.” He commanded softly.

With a respectful nod to Lord Cerwyn, Jaime ignored Lady Cerwyn sobs and steered her from the room. Brienne guided Sansa next to her.

Lady Cerwyn tripped away from Jaime and led them to an exit at the rear of the castle where the servants joined them. With one last, furtive glance down the hall to where her husband waited alone, she turned and guided the group down a passage and into a subterranean level beneath the castle.

Brienne and Jaime followed close behind Lady Cerwyn, ready in case there were any surprises up ahead. With a glance over her shoulder, Brienne nodded to Sansa’s personal guards. The four men moved in to form a protective barrier around the Stark girl and Podrick.

Lady Cerwyn led them through twisting turns that eventually opened up into a larger room. As they stumbled into the dark underground root cellar, Lady Cerwyn lit a lantern and headed to a wall in the back.

Jaime fought the urge to sneeze as their feet kicked up a cloud dust that they had disturbed. He was sure the sound would have been loud enough to give away their position. He pinched his nose shut and noticed that others did the same.

“Come, I will need your help,” Lady Cerwyn said indicating a pile of old, musty dried goods that leaned against a partially hidden door. 

One of Sansa’s guards helped Brienne move the burden out of their way, revealing a door with rusted hinges. Jaime pulled his wife aside and motioned for the others to check the exit. Two of the larger guards approached the wall and, with a hearty push, shoved the squeaky door open.

A long tunnel stretched before them, disappearing deep under the homestead. One of the guards stepped forward to inspect the space, and when he waved, they followed him in. The walls were damp, and although the air was not as cold as Jaime would have assumed, it was very stale.

Podrick brought up the rear of the party, and when he let the door shut, they were cast into a false twilight.

Lady Cerwyn pushed forward and steered the group down the muddy corridor. It was not a big tunnel. Jaime and Brienne both had to stoop so as not to brush their hair against the accumulated muck that clung to the ceiling.

When they reached the end of the passage, one of the guards helped Lady Cerwyn shove open the large wooden door.   
Outside, the early morning light flooded the tunnel, and the cold winter aired chilled them.

Far in the distance, they spied Lord Cerwyn’s castle. The Lady of the House sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of it and then turned from her home with resolution.

One of the servants who had followed them through the tunnel tugged on Lady Cerwyn’s sleeve. “Come with us, my lady. We can all safely hide in town.” 

“No,” said Jaime, “it’s too risky. Lady Cerwyn, you cannot be caught.” Jaime was adamant, and the maid glared at him.

The Lady Cerwyn smiled at the servant and indicated that it would be alright. “Go, be safe. We will figure something out.”

Reluctantly, the servant left them and disappeared with the others down a game path that led towards the village.

Once they were alone, Sansa said, “I know of a place where we can hide in safety.” 

Jaime nodded at her to take the lead. “Then we best hurry along.”

As Sansa began to head north towards the mountains, she smiled at the memory of where she had first heard of this safe haven. She recalled the way her father’s eyes had lit up when he described the hidden valley to her so long ago. Sansa had been in a terrible mood that day, and he’d told her a dozen different stories from his youth in an attempt to draw her out. But it was the secret valley that Sansa remembered best.

It was nestled between the Northern Mountains, a few days’ walk from Winterfell. A crystal clear lake stretched down the valley’s center where majestic pines surrounded it. Her father went there often in his youth, trying to escape beatings from his brothers or just looking for adventures out in the wild.

It was a safe place, he told her, and Sansa had pressed him to tell her where it was exactly, thinking of turning it into her safe place, too. With a chuckle, he gave her instructions on how to find it and made her vow never to tell her mother. Sansa had solemnly promised that it was their secret, and her father had smiled at that, pleased.

But then King Robert had come to Winterfell, and Sansa had gone south. The hidden valley remained a dream.

Sansa would imagine herself escaping there sometimes – her father and mother, Ayra and her brothers, all waiting for her there.

Sansa bit her lip against the sudden flash of pain. She missed everyone so much. 

Before her emotions could overwhelm her, she forced her resolve and trudged onwards through the snowy forest, the others trailing close behind. 

Now it felt as if the specter of her father was helping to guide them to safety. She could almost feel his hand on her shoulder, and the weight of it was comforting. 

*

Lord Cerwyn finished his draught of tainted wine. He listened as Ramsay’s thugs rammed their way through the main door and stormed into the castle. With a deep exhale to calm his nerves, he refilled his glass with more wine. He had a feeling he was going to need it. Alas, he did not know how long it would take for the poison to work.

They were a noisy bunch and Cerwyn winced every time he heard a crash or an object being broken. Soon Shagwell and Urswyck rushed into the room. They found him standing in front of the large bay windows, gazing sadly out at what was once his family’s homestead. Already Bolton’s men had set fire to the stables; soon, Cerwyn imagined, there would not be much of his house left. At least his wife and the Lady Sansa had gotten away before the bastard could get his hands on them.

Shagwell stopped short at the sight of Cerwyn and called cheerfully back to his master. The man dressed in motley, tittered like a psychotic jester at his captured quarry as he and Urswyck stood guard at the doors. Cerwyn thought it was the scariest sound he had ever heard.

Ramsay strode confidently into the room. With an indignant look, he asked, “I do not see the Lady Stark. Where is she?”

Amused, Lord Cerwyn shrugged. The fool bastard had been decreed a legitimate heir by King Tommen. But to Cerwyn, Ramsay would always have the persona of a lesser-born. 

Cerwyn smirked to himself. No matter how much the boy washed, the shit stain that was Ramsay Bolton would always be sullied.

“I do not know what you are talking about,” Cerwyn said aloud, his back still to Ramsay. Too intent on his ruminations, he did not hear the bastard stalk up behind him. He was not prepared, then, when Ramsay’s strong fist suddenly crashed down, connecting with the back of his skull.

Knocked violently to the floor, Cerwyn laid sprawled, face down, against the rug. Ramsay signaled his enforcers to pick up the dazed man, and they yanked the older lord to his feet.

Cerwyn gulped, noticing that Ramsay had removed a skinning knife from his belt. He swallowed his fear and vowed that this young upstart would never break him. He just had to stay quiet long enough for the poisoned wine to work. 

He had yet to feel any effects, and he worried that he had not taken enough. Cerwyn hoped the poison would not cause any pain, but with the way Ramsay was leering at him, he had a feeling it would be preferable to what he was about to experience.

The bastard motioned for his men to hold the shaking lord tight. Just before he went to cut Cerwyn’s face, a breathless Timeon ran in. “My lord, the castle is deserted.”

Ramsay frowned and then tested the blade’s sharpness on Cerwyn’s cheek. The elder man flinched and finally made a sound as warm blood dribbled down his face. Pleased, Ramsay turned his attention to Timeon. “Even the servants?”

Timeon licked his lips. “Everyone, my lord…”

The fat Dothraki, Zollo ambled into the room with personal belongings from Sansa’s room. “We found these.” He held up some of Sansa’s dresses that had been left behind in her hurried escape.

“She’s not here, hmm?” To highlight his displeasure, Ramsay blotted Cerwyn’s cheek dry with the finery. “I wonder if we should check to see if these fit you, then, Lord Cerwyn.” 

The Brave Companions laughed at their lord’s jest. “Now where is she?” Ramsay asked quietly.

Cerwyn still would not speak. With a quick jerk of his head, Ramsay indicated for the stubborn lord to be dragged outside. “You know what to do, gentlemen,” he told his men. His voice was calm, but his eyes were wild at the thought of all the fun he was about to have.

A few days ago, word had gotten to the Boltons that the surviving Houses of the North were gathering in secret. Figuring this could be an issue, Roose sent Ramsay to investigate. Arriving in Moat Cailin, he had just missed the meeting, but Ramsay knew which lesser house to visit first. Lord Holt had always proven to be a rather cowardly man.

Unfortunately, under torture, that weak noble had not lasted as long as Ramsay would have liked. Truth be told, Ramsay had become more exuberant in his ministrations once he’d heard Sansa Stark’s name mentioned. All he could find out was she was at Lord Cerwyn’s estate.

Now, he planned to take his time with this Lord. It was evident that the Stark girl had come here for a reason; finding out what the reason was would take finesse. Besides, he was curious if this highborn lord would break quicker than the last one had. He had a feeling the higher up one went on the nobility chain; the easier those noble links would shatter.

He wondered fleetingly how long Lord Wyman Manderly would last under those similar efforts…then again, he knew that once his father was informed of the situation, he would demand quick answers. Ramsay dared not tarry too long. 

With one last glare at the rich décor in the room, Ramsay huffed at the opulence and followed his men outside. He would get the answers he needed, even if he had to work his way through the northern nobility one by one.

*

The Brave Companions had not dragged any of the usual cross beams that they used for flayed men with them from the Dreadfort. So they improvised by stringing the now shirtless Lord Cerwyn up by his arms under a tree.

“I guess this will have to do,” Ramsay said with disdain. He disliked inconsistences. He signaled the large Dothraki to hold Lord Cerwyn still.

Once more, Ramsay ran the sharp blade of his skinning knife against the wound on Cerwyn’s cheek. Cerwyn closed his eyes against the pain. In a bored voice, Ramsay asked, “Where is she?”

Cerwyn bit back a scream of pain when the blade dug deeper. “I—I don’t know. She did not say where.” Somehow finding his reserve, he ground out, “And she knows this area better than most.”

“Yes, yes, I am sure the heir to Winterfell is very resourceful. If you will not tell me where she is gone, then tell me why she was here. Is she planning to take back her House?”

Lord Cerwyn tried not to whine when Ramsay found a new target for his blade. This time, a small chunk of his skin was flayed free from his bare shoulder. Cerwyn did not want to reveal the truth, but in his haze of agony, he knew the bastard would not stop until he discovered all.

Damn that poison, why was it not working yet!?

Right now, he would say almost anything to make Ramsay stop. He had to buy himself more time for the toxin to take effect.   
His blurry mind recalled that there was some information that that would not affect their plans against Winterfell.

Cerwyn stuttered, “N—no. She wants to destroy the Dreadfort.”

Ramsay snorted at that. “I hardly think she is in a position—”

“On top of my desk in the study, there is a map with the army markers on it,” Cerwyn wheezed. “You can see for yourself.” 

“Now why would she want to do that?” Ramsay asked. “It does not make any sense to attack there.” 

Just the thought that she would dare to attack his ancestral home made him dig his knife maliciously into the old lord’s stomach.

As Cerwyn screamed from the pain, Ramsay nodded to Timeon. The helmed man dashed off to retrieve the map. He was only gone longer than a few minutes before he ran back to Ramsay’s side; the cutout map clutched between his grimy fingers.  
Sure enough, there was an indent on the Dreadfort icon, as if someone had jabbed the map insistently.

“Were there troop markers near it?”

On Timeon’s quick nod, Ramsay scoffed—this had to be a joke. No one was stupid enough to try to attack an impregnable fortress-like the Dreadfort.

Ramsay swiveled on his foot. “This cannot be right,” he shouted into Cerwyn’s barely-conscious face. 

The dying Lord just smiled, and he would have shrugged in amusement if he did not hurt so much. 

“Why would she do so?” Ramsay demanded.

Cerwyn could finally feel the effects of the poison as his extremities began to tingle and go numb. He only wished it had worked faster. “The Boltons are traitors,” he wheezed, finding it more difficult to breathe. “What better way to destroy you, than to wipe out your House?”

Ramsay suddenly shoved the map into Cerwyn’s face. “This is a lie.”

“You just want me to tell you such. But it is true, and you know it. Soon she will lead her allies and annihilate your home.” He hoped they would send more troops from Winterfell to Dreadfort to fortify it. At least, something good would have come from all this, he mused silently.

“That is impossible! Tell me how.” Ramsay demanded in outrage.

Lord Cerwyn began to shudder, for the poison was starting to take hold of his mind. He thought sadly of his wife and children and how he would never see them again. He hoped she would always remember him fondly. And he wished that the Lady Sansa would succeed in wiping the damn Boltons out forever. Avenge me, he pleaded silently to the Gods.

When Ramsay prodded him once more with the sharp tip of his knife, Cerwyn glared at the arrogant young man.

“I am afraid those details will die with me… you bastard.” And with a last, half-hearted chuckle, Lord Cerwyn’s head fell forward and he ceased breathing.

Ramsay shook Lord Cerwyn and then screamed in rage. He began to pummel the dead lord’s body. Cerwyn’s face still wore a faint smile, and it was mocking him. Ramsay stuck him with his blade until the man was barely recognizable. Breathing heavily, he forced himself to get control and stopped his assault.

Sneering at the corpse, he shoved the body out of his way, leaving it swinging behind him. 

“For once, Lord Cerwyn, you will be of use to my family.” He turned to the others and declared, “His flayed corpse will serve as a warning to others not to betray us.”

Shagwell stepped forward, the dented bells on his jester’s cap jingling. “Then what, my lord?”

“While I hunt down the Stark girl, I’ll send a messenger to my father to tell him of this ridiculous plan of hers. Though it seems false, he still needs to know.” 

He signaled the Brave Companions forward. “And just to be sure, you four go back to the Dreadfort and warn them that there might be an attack by her forces.” 

Ramsay then addressed the remaining soldiers. “Meanwhile, all of you are to come with me. Sansa Stark will pay for challenging my family.”

*

Jaime would say one thing about the Lady Cerwyn—once she made up her mind, she became very dedicated to the task at hand. Her husband was likely dead and her castle overrun with Bolton’s men. But still, she trudged through the deep snow, never once giving a backward glance to her previous life.

Sansa and Podrick lead the precession through the woods, her four guards at their heels. The stalwart Lady Cerwyn followed, with Jaime and Brienne taking up the rear. So far, they had yet to see anything but trees and snow, and Jaime was getting rather sick of this boring scenery.

To him, it seemed as if they had been laboring through the forest forever. Glancing at the cloud-draped sun, he decided it must have been well into the late afternoon. They were hungry, tired, and covered in snow. Though the brisk march helped to keep them warm, the moment they stopped to rest, the cold would creep in.

Finally nearing the base of the Northern Mountains, they paused for a break. There was a sudden ‘thwack,’ and an arrow lodged into a tree near Jaime’s head.

The small group instantly unsheathed their swords and crouched at the ready. Sansa and Lady Cerwyn were partially hidden behind a protective buffer of raised steel. 

Another arrow was launched from somewhere to their right, and it flew into the snow covered ground just at their feet—a clear warning.

Sansa shoved her way past the two Lannisters in front of her. With a demanding tone, she addressed the foe hidden in the trees. “I am Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell. Who are you?” She had recognized the arrow’s fletching and hoped that it was who she thought it was.

A bald and scarred man dressed in the garb of the Northern Mountain Clans stepped out from behind a nearby pine. “You are rather far from home, my lady.” The derision in his voice made Sansa’s raise her chin.

“The North is my home. And you are?”

“I am Janpar of the Wulls.” With a motion of his hand, they were suddenly surrounded by men dressed in the same attire. “If you are who you say you are, then you are very far from your new home in the south.”

“I may have been residing in King’s Landing temporarily, but my heart will always live in the North. And I have come to reclaim my ancestral home.” Her declaration made the man pause. Some of Janpar’s men began to murmur excitedly, but their leader hushed them with a glare.

Sansa took their response as a good sign. “Tell me, is Lord Wull still alive?”

Janpar nodded, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Then I wish to speak with him.” Her voice was calm and regal; he dared not deny her. 

With an angry sigh, he indicated for them to follow him. “I will take you to my Lord; he will know if you are who you claim to be. This way.”

Ignoring her perturbed look, Janpar turned and marched away into the trees. As his men corralled the smaller group, Jaime and Brienne exchanged a look. Jaime had never heard of the Wulls before. He hoped Sansa knew what she was doing.

*

Janpar’s men marched Sansa and her followers into a heavily occupied camp that was nestled in a mountain pass. An idyllic frozen lake bracketed the side of the camp, with thick patches of tall, snow-covered trees surrounding it. The view was breathtaking, and Sansa instantly understood why her father had loved this place so.

Nearby, children ran about and played games. Farther away, some men and women were practicing their fighting skills.   
Brienne was excited to see the fighters in mock battle.

“Jaime—” She gestured at the fighters training, “—the Dreadfort… They can help us against the reinforcements.”

Nodding emphatically, Jaime grinned and said, “Yes wench, maybe we can alleviate your guilt after all.”

Her smile was so bright that Jaime was surprised the snow did not melt from the trees.

He turned and studied the group of fighters. Although they appeared fierce, there was only a portion of the number they needed to succeed in ambushing the reinforcements that the Dreadfort would send to Winterfell. 

But… there might be a way to make a smaller group work. A plan began to form in his mind. Jaime knew he would have to think this out carefully; he would certainly not want to risk his family because of lack of planning.

Word about the visitors traveled fast around the camp, and soon its occupants were pausing their activates to watch. Janpar led the new arrivals through the camp and into a large, warm shelter. 

Inside the makeshift hall, Lord Wull sat sprawled on a large, misshapen throne made of bones and animal skins. He studied the group of weary travelers. Frowning, he sat up straighter when Lady Sansa pushed past her guards. She stood regally in front of Lord Wull and waited.

The old man stood quickly. “I would recognize Ned Stark’s strong features anywhere,” he said, bowing to the Lady of Winterfell.

He indicated for all of them to sit. Jaime dropped his damp cloak gratefully. Soon, warm drinks and food were passed around the room. Brienne declined to drink, but Jaime took the warm spicy beverage. He did not drink much from the cup but instead used it to warm his hand.

Lord Wull sat back down. “My lady, I am surprised you are here. Last we heard…” His eyes flashed. Outraged at the thought of what had happened to the true Warden of the North and his family, he could not continue.

The regret in Sansa’s tone was palpable. “I have been gone for too long it seems.”

Angling back into his seat, Lord Wull sighed. “Yes, and the changes are getting worse. I am surprised that you did not come to us first for safety.”

With a slight nod, Sansa explained, “I had inquired as to all my vassals, but I was told you were no longer in the Northern Mountains.”

Lord Wull dipped his head glumly. “We were chased out by those accursed dead creatures that come from the north. We were able to beat them back, but it was too risky to stay where we were. The warmer climate—” Jaime snorted at that, “—seemed to help keep them at bay. But with winter approaching, I fear they will not stay away for long.”

Sansa tried to mask her concern. Rumors of the dead were just something they would have to deal with later. “Help us retake Winterfell, and your people will be well rewarded.”

Sansa had overheard the exchange between Jaime and Brienne earlier, and she wondered if there were enough capable fighters in the camp to carry out their plans against the Dreadfort reinforcements after all.

Lord Wull looked at her curiously, so she said, “Should we succeed with our newest plan, you will be welcome to the safer lands around the Dreadfort.”

She heard Brienne’s sharp intake of breath behind her and noticed that Jaime nodded in approval. Lord Wull’s second, Janpar, narrowed his eyes at her promise.

Lord Wull frowned. “And what of the fortress and the people within?” He asked. “I would rather not have the Boltons as my neighbors.” He said it good-naturedly, but inside, his gut was churning in anticipation. What he would love to do to those betrayers. 

Sansa leaned forward, “With your help, there will be no Bolton or any of their allies left. As for the fortress itself, I want it razed to the ground.”

The Lord barked loudly with laughter. It reminded Jaime of baying wolves, and he felt a chill run up his spine. Even his wench appeared weary at the sound as she subtly moved closer to Jaime.

Lord Wull was silent for a moment and then nodded his head sharply “We could help you get your ancestral lands back and put a Stark in command at Winterfell once more.” 

Sansa smiled and dipped her head in appreciation.

“But before I agree, I would like to hear of your plans.” Once more, he leaned forward to gauge her intentions.

“My brother Jon will retake Winterfell for us,” Sansa explained. “What we will need is help against the Dreadfort’s reinforcements. Our original plan was for us to head to Winterfell and await assistance. But with your additional men, new possibilities open up. Ser Jaime Lannister will be able to tell you more about those plans.”

Lord Wull frowned at Jaime and then at Brienne. “Ah, so you are the ones who killed the king who burns his enemies alive to the false God.” Surprisingly, Lord Wull did not sound at all angry about it; instead, he seemed pleased that they had succeeded.  
“You killed their Red Witch, too?” He asked.

Jaime pointed to Brienne, and she nodded. Lord Wull assessed them both, then gave them a sharp-toothed smile. “Then I am looking forward to vanquishing our enemies together. What do you propose?”

“Lord Wull, do the other Northern clans have as many fighters as you?” Jaime asked.

The larger man chuckled. “No, hardly anywhere near as many. That is probably why they refused to join our group—afraid we might kill them off. They know we could beat them all into the snow.”

Jaime nodded. He glanced at Sansa and said, “We will need you to kill the men inside the Dreadfort and any who flee from it.”   
Sansa scowled at the sudden change in strategy. Jaime knew she would not be pleased with the revision, but adjustments had to be made if they were to succeed.

Lord Wull leaned back. “My men and I might be good, but I do not see how getting inside is even possible.”

“Apologies, I am getting ahead of myself.” Jaime cleared his throat. It had been a while since he had led an attack, after all.

“It seems my wife and I are heroes to the Boltons for killing Stannis. We will claim sanctuary to gain entry into the Dreadfort.”

Sansa looked as if she was going to interrupt, but Jaime continued, “Once we are within, we will poison the soldiers’ food and then sneak to the gates to let you in.” It was actually Lord Cerwyn’s means of sacrifice that had given him that idea. “Your men will then kill those that are still alive. I want as few sellswords left as possible.”

Janpar frowned. “What makes you so confident that you can overtake Bolton’s men on your own? They will kill you if you fail?”

Jaime smirked. “We are hardly at risk. They are allies of my father; they dare not kill us. And with the Boltons all at Winterfell, no one would even suspect us.” He exchanged a wicked grin with Brienne. “And if a problem does arise, my wife and I are rather good at improvising.”

Janpar looked as if he had more to say, but Wull silenced him with a look. He wanted to believe that these two were capable.   
The Dreadfort was known to be indestructible. But then, the thought of killing off those cowards was so satisfying. Wull would love to avenge the murder of King Robb and his mother. This could be their only chance. 

Lord Wull leveled a brief glance to his second-in-command. Janpar only shrugged, but that seemed to be enough for Wull.  
The clan leader smiled his grin all teeth. “We are in.”

Sansa let out a relieved breath. The change in plans concerned her, but she trusted Jaime and Brienne to know what they were doing. Besides, there was still the issue of finding enough manpower for Winterfell. She wanted to add fighters to her brother’s assault force as well. 

“Where are the other Northern Clans?” She asked Lord Wull.

The old man scoffed. “They are sulking around somewhere, I suppose. I do not think they will be interested in joining us, though.”

Sansa bared her teeth at his dismissive tone — a warning these mountain clans would understand better than pretty words.   
“Well, I still wish to talk to them. Whoever can be spared at the Dreadfort can join my brother Jon in taking and holding Winterfell. I am right to assume that the other clans are also having problems with the White Walkers?”

He grimaced at the description. “That name is fitting for those creatures. Yes, they too were chased out by the dead men.”   
Lord Wull studied her. “If the other clans join the fight, who will get Bolton’s lands?”

“You must learn to share,” Sansa replied stiffly.

“They are stubborn, my lady,” Lord Wull hedged.

Sansa glanced cheekily over her shoulder at Brienne and Jaime. “Oh, I have had some practice in regards to such behavior.”

Turning back to Lord Wull, Sansa narrowed her eyes and said with vehemence, “First, we will destroy the Boltons and take back Winterfell. Later, we will fight the White Walkers and drive them back beyond the Wall.” 

Her voice had risen as she spoke, and Lord Wull was struck again by how much she reminded him of her father. 

Clearing his throat, Lord Wull promised, “I will send runners to get word to the other clans. I will tell them that we are having a war gathering of all the Northern Mountain Clans tomorrow night. In the meantime, I insist that you all stay as guests here in my camp. Tonight, I wish to hear of all your adventures, especially the death of the usurper king.” 

He stared expectantly at Jaime and Brienne, who nodded graciously at his wish.

“It would be our pleasure, my lord,” said Sansa.


	9. Preparation

Lord Wull was an attentive host, and the celebration had gone on long into the night. Jaime knew that many of the guests would be rather hung over. For Jaime and Brienne, it meant an extra hour of sleep and brighter moods.

As Brienne waited for Jaime to dress for breakfast, she cheekily declared, “I am pleased that my idea of granting us entry into the Dreadfort was so useful.”

Jaime paused with his tunic halfway over his head and turned in her direction. “And I am delighted that my wife is so obliged and clever.”

He heard her laugh and move towards him. Her happy visage greeted him as she helped him tug his tunic down to cover his torso. 

Her playful disposition made Jaime sorry that he had to bring up more serious matters.

He had planned to ask her before going to bed last night, but they’d been too distracted by the prospect of a warm bed, cheerful spirits, and each other’s company.

Now he stared into her clear blue eyes. His hand clasped her shoulder. “Brienne, you know I have to ask this.” His eyes darted down to her stomach, his intent clear.

True to form, she scowled.

He had already anticipated how she would react, but he felt he had to make an effort. “It is not cowardly if you stay back with Sansa and the others. You vowed to protect her.”

Brienne’s chin rose stubbornly. “You cannot do this without me.” There was pride in her tone, and she added, “Do not fear, husband, yours is a good and sound plan.”

Her confidence was both a boon and a detriment to him. Though if he was honest with himself, there was a selfish need on his part that wanted her to be with him, always. He felt safer when she was by his side, and he would never trust anyone but her to act as his right hand.

“If anything happened to you and the babe…” He trailed off, the unspoken words hanging between them: I would not be able to live without you.

At the trembling in his voice, Brienne cupped his cheek in her hand, her eyes glassy. “Never forget, Jaime. You are what is most important to me.” 

She grabbed his left hand and placed both of theirs on her stomach. “And Gods help me, so is the babe…” She chuckled, exasperated and embarrassed to admit it.

After a moment, her brow furrowed with determination. “But I know this is the right thing to do. We can fix this, Jaime.”   
With a teasing smile that registered Jaime’s tender expression, she patted her belly and said, “Now are we going to do this with or without you.”

Unable to help himself, Jaime laughed and pulled her in close. “Well, I can’t let you have all the fun, wench—” he rubbed her belly softly, “—neither of you.” 

Gods help them if their child grew up to be as stubborn as Brienne and as impetuous as him.

Brienne smiled and then abruptly kissed him. With a self-satisfied smirk, she pushed away and marched out of their small tent. 

Grinning at her retreating form, Jaime began to follow her.

Before he could go outside, Sansa was suddenly blocking his path. 

Jaime came up short, frowning at her unexpected arrival. Before he could inquire as to why she was visiting, Brienne returned to the tent, close on Sansa’s heels. She took up her spot next to the Stark girl’s side. By her stance and scowl, Jaime suddenly realized she was on duty.

Their presence put him instantly on guard.

Gauging their unified front, Jaime licked his lips in worry. Oh, what are my wench and the Stark cub up to now?

Sansa looked at him squarely in the eye. “My lord, we need to talk about your plan against the Dreadfort.”

*

Sansa, Jaime, and Brienne had been late to attending breakfast in Lord Wull’s large tent. Now they were half-way through the course of meat pies and baked root vegetables when Janpar entered to report the latest news to Lord Wull.

“My lord, it did not take long for Ramsay Bolton to find the trail left by Lady Sansa’s party,” he said.

Hearing the young Stark girl’s gasp of worry, Janpar flicked his eyes over to her. “Do not fear,” he said haughtily, “my scouts and I concealed their tracks.” 

He looked back at Wull and grinned wolfishly. “The bastard has been going around in frustrated circles all night. It will not be long before he is too dizzy to know even where true North lies.”

Wull nodded pleased and indicated for his second-in-command to join them at the table. Janpar sat down across from Sansa and filled a cup with drink. He looked smug at having been useful to his lord. Jaime felt a prick of distaste. He’d known many men like Janpar – men who were motivated by a proximity to power and relished it.

The murmur of amicable talk filled the tent for the remainder of the meal, but Jaime detected a slight undercurrent of tension throughout the conversations. He supposed it was due to them being outsiders to the northern ways, but there might have been something else. Jaime could not put his finger on it, but he sensed they should be very careful around these unpredictable clansmen. 

He had to make sure that their attack would go as smoothly as possible, their lives depended on it.

After the plates had been cleared away, they gathered around the large table to finalize their plans. 

Upon Lord Wull’s call, a young, brown haired woman entered the tent. She was introduced as his eldest daughter, Celyne, and she would be assisting them in the raid against the Dreadfort. Her dark brown eyes gazed coolly around the tent, as she took a seat close to Lord Wull.

The leader of the Northern Mountain Clans motioned for Jaime to present the details of his plan.

Clearing his throat, Jaime stood and addressed the group. “I want the Dreadfort taken care of before Jon Snow attacks Winterfell. I am not expecting trouble, but if there are any complications, we need enough time to withdraw to Winterfell.”

He truly hoped it did not come to that. This had to work; otherwise, they could be stuck at Winterfell for months.

Janpar frowned. “How much time do we have to prepare?”

“Two days.” When Janpar barred his teeth in annoyance, Jaime laughed and said, “Do not fear. All that your group will have to do is wait patiently for the gates to open.” Janpar glowered at the implied insult but remained quiet. Jaime grinned, unable to help himself. “The rest should come naturally to you.” 

Jaime dipped his head to indicate Brienne. “Besides, the wench and I will be doing all the hard work inside the Dreadfort. Once we have been admitted into the fortress, we’ll drug their food and wait for the men to be knocked out. By late evening, most of the soldiers should be fast asleep. That’s when we will open the gate for your men.” 

Janpar looked mulish, but Jaime could see the glint of bloodlust in the other man’s eyes. Satisfied that Janpar would not raise any objections, he nodded at Celyne. “Any soldiers that manage to escape the fort will be hunted down by your group, my lady.”

He noticed that Celyne glanced at him sharply at being given that responsibility. There was a pleased curve to her lips, and she nodded her affirmation to Jaime’s request.

Lord Wull frowned. “You plan on giving them a sleeping draught? What about using poison?”

Jaime glanced at Brienne and then Sansa. Focusing on Wull, he said, “While I recognize that poison is the surest way to incapacitate as many soldiers as possible, there is a chance that the smallfolk could be poisoned as well…”

He was grateful that Sansa and Brienne had brought this point to his attention. He had been so focused on the end result that he did not account for the innocents that would be affected. He did not want to be known as a man who poisoned children. Being identified as the ‘Kingslayer’ was bad enough already.

Lord Wull’s low, angry rumble knocked Jaime out of his thoughts. “Then they all die. So be it,” the old man growled.

Sansa stood. “No, my lord, there will be no killing of the smallfolk, if at all possible.”

Wull slammed his fist onto the table. “Any survivors will seek revenge. It is the Bolton and Frey way. All of them are betrayers.”  
“I will not be known as a child killer,” Sansa spat with matching vehemence.

Taking a calming breath, Wull leaned back in his seat. “If you are to be Warden, you will need to make hard decisions.”

Still angry, Sansa snapped, “And as Warden, I must also make the right choices for my people. That means all the people of the North, my lord.”

Wull’s smile was a grimace as he spoke through clenched teeth, “But they betrayed guest rights, Lady Sansa, and killed your brother and mother and countless others.”

“You do not need to tell me what they had done to my own family.”

Lord Wull’s hard eyes glared into Sansa’s. “I think I do. Times have changed, my lady. We all need to be reminded that actions have consequences—harsh consequences. This will show them that you are a Stark.”

Outraged, Sansa growled, “My father would never call for the death of the innocent. My word is final, Lord Wull. The smallfolk are not to be killed.”

Wull stared at her for a moment longer. Jaime held his breath, watching the old lord battle silently against the young Stark. Finally, Wull acquiesced with a slight dip of his head. “As you command, my lady.”

Jaime studied the man, surprised he had given in so readily. He remembered his father saying once that the Northern Mountain Clans were a prideful people who followed their own rules set in their old ways. Lord Wull must have recognized some of that tenacity in Sansa, to have backed down so quickly.

The tension in the large tent was thick, and Jaime cleared his throat. 

“Now that that is settled, the last condition is that should any of the other Northern Mountain Clans join us, they will be directed to meet up with Jon Snow to help him take Winterfell. Any questions?”

All but Janpar shook their heads ‘no.’ With a glare from his lord, the second-in-command of the Wull clan finally agreed.

Jaime noticed that Celyne was gazing at him with interest, but he ignored her attentions. This exchange had not been missed by Janpar though, who glowered at Jaime in turn. His gaze shifted from Jaime to Celyne, and jealously was prevalent in his angry glare.

Jaime groaned internally. Taking the Dreadfort would be hard enough without having an envious paramour to worry about. 

Before Lord Wull could end the meeting, the first of the messengers arrived back in the camp. A breathless young boy entered the tent and addressed Sansa and Lord Wull.

“I was able to find the First Flints and the Burleys,” the boy panted. “They agreed to attend the meeting tonight.”

Pleased, Wull dismissed him. 

Sansa could not help but think that it would be a boon if she could get the two most prominent clans to join them. Not only would it help convince the other, weaker clans to unite with them, they could also add more fighters to Jon’s group.

The next messenger had sought out the Harclays, the Liddles, and the Knotts. The man declared proudly to Sansa, “These smaller, weaker clans were hesitant to come tonight. You were right my lady; they fear my lord's strong influence over you.” 

Sansa frowned at the messenger, who hastened to add, “But I assured them that you vowed that they would have an equal say when it came to matters that required your council. With that promise, they agreed to show up at tonight’s gathering.”

Sansa nodded. “And any word from the other clans?”

The man’s arrogant attitude deflated. “No, sorry, my lady. There is hope though that word will reach them eventually.”

Sansa dipped her head. “Thank you.” 

With a grimace, the messenger dashed off. 

Watching him leave, Lord Wull stood and said, “If you will excuse us, my lady. Janpar and I need to set up final preparations for tonight’s guests.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Lord Wull.”

When Wull and Janpar had left, Sansa turned to Brienne and Jaime. She could not stop the huge grin that spread over her young face. The Lannisters could not help but mirror her joy. Their plan had worked; they had persuaded Lord Wull and his commanders.

Giddy, Sansa said, “I am amazed at how much more willing they are to work with me than the northern nobles had been.”

Jaime did not mean to rein her hopes in, but reminded her, “I hope they will continue to do so once they are told they will be working with the Wildings that Jon was bringing down with him.”

Sansa scowled, “Leave that to me.”

*

Ramsay glowered to himself as he mulled over the message he had just been given.

The guard before him shrank under Bolton's withering gaze. Seeing the man gathering the courage to speak again, Ramsay interrupted him, “Yes, yes. I heard you.”

“S-Sorry, my lord. It is just that your father wishes to see you at Winterfell now. When he heard the news of Sansa Stark’s escape…”

Frustrated at his inability to hunt the girl down, Ramsay swung his riding crop at the man, connecting. With a cry, the soldier fell to his knees, his hands around his head to block any further blows. Blood slowly trickled from a gash at his temple.

Barely quelling his rage, Ramsay glared at the cowering man. It was just as well he was being called back, his father should be told the other news in person.

Ramsay did not know how his father would react when he was told of the threat against the Dreadfort. The young lord had to admit he was a tad worried about what Lord Cerwyn had finally revealed before his heart had given out. Frankly, it all sounded suspect to Ramsay, but there was just enough doubt cast by the nobleman’s defiant last words to give him pause.

At least the Brave Companions were at the Dreadfort to keep an eye on things. Ramsay certainly trusted them more than his father’s second-in-command, Steelshanks. That man was a complete idiot!

Ramsay reminded himself that such a bold assault by the Stark bitch was a ridiculous notion. The Dreadfort was impregnable from any attack. But if his father had not insisted he report directly to him now at Winterfell, he would have ridden out to check on his ancestral home first if only to make sure. 

He promised himself that he would just have to go there after he had updated his father. Plus he could also grab his best-tracking dogs from the Dreadforts kennels to hunt her down.

Ramsay vowed he would find that Stark bitch and wring the truth from her. Her boastful lies would cost her dearly.  
Gathering his horse’s reins, he swung onto the saddle. 

He called over his lead guard. “Forget chasing after that Stark girl. Instead, I want you to track down the Northern nobility. Not all of them would have run away to hide. Kick down doors and torture anyone you can find to reveal their whereabouts. Someone must know the truth as to why she is here. And you best hope you find them, or it is you that I will focus all my attentions on next time we meet.” 

Not waiting for the guard’s stuttered answer, Ramsay kicked his horse’s flanks hard and galloped off towards Winterfell.

*

It was late in the afternoon when the other clans began to arrive at the Wull encampment. Inside the biggest tent, Sansa sat waiting at the head of a large table. Clan leaders trickled inside in ones and twos and took their seats. In a few moments, the first war council of the newly aligned clans under the Stark banner would begin.

Though she tried to appear dignified, Sansa’s stomach was rolling. So much was at stake; she had to win them over.

So far, her poised bearing had the desired effect on the group. The clan leaders were behaving themselves, only trading minor barbs disguised as jests amongst themselves. 

At least, they were not physically attacking each other. Yet.

Maybe some good would come from the hell Roose and Ramsay Bolton had inflicted on the North, Sansa thought, watching them.

She wished that when word reached the other outlying clans, they would join her group after the siege. With a sigh, Sansa realized that two of the clans would never show—they had been lost along with her brother in the battle at the Trident. Those clans had been her father’s biggest supporters, and she could have used their thirst for revenge.

Glancing about the cramped tent, Sansa was pleased to note that with the clan’s cooperation, she would no longer need the nobility’s support. Besides, the Kingslayer was right—they would come to her willingly soon enough.

Just behind Sansa, Brienne took up her stance as bodyguard and advisor. She, too, watched the clan leaders and made a note of how they quarreled and bickered amongst themselves. From her periphery, she caught the slight nod from Sansa. The large woman’s studied gaze became a scowl. She stepped forward and slammed her fist onto the table, hard enough that the collection of cups jumped up and nearly spilled their contents. “Silence!”

The clan leaders fell silent and stared up at the imposing woman in surprise.

Sansa raised an eyebrow and gave a smile of gratitude to Brienne.

She delicately cleared her throat, and the clansmen attention flicked from the warrior woman to Sansa. The young woman stood and walked slowly around the table. 

“You came to my family’s aid when my brother fought at the Trident,” said Sansa regally. “Many of your brethren died by Frey swords and Bolton treachery. My father always told me that the Northmen have long memories, and that any lord who does not seek his rightful vengeance threatens to have his men turn on him.”

The clan leaders shifted around in their seats, their eyes shining with anticipation. Sansa stopped at the head of the table and gave them a fierce look.

“I promise you; they will pay for their betrayal. And we will succeed in taking back the North!” Her fist rose in the air, and the leaders cheered at her words.

Among the cheers were a few voices of dissent. The clansmen growled and yelled at one another until Lord Wull shouted, “Quiet! Hear her out!”

Barely subdued, the clan leaders turned their attention to Sansa once more. 

“Thank you, my lord.” She gestured to Jaime. “My tactician is Lord Jaime Lannister. He and his wife, the Lady Brienne, have been unrivaled in their loyalty.”

Her gaze took in the Lannisters. Brienne had a small, encouraging smile while Jaime appeared surprised at her words. While it was difficult for Sansa to forgive Jaime for his past transgressions against her family, he had proven himself to her. Risking his life to deliver her to Winterfell and fight for their cause had shown Sansa a side of the Kingslayer that she’d never heard about in stories and rumors. She trusted in his ability, if not in his person.

Turning back to the group, she said, “He will tell you how we plan to take back what is rightfully ours.”

A few clansmen raised their eyebrows at his introduction, recognizing the name of the man who killed the usurper. But then they shared Lord Wull’s opinion for ‘King’ Stannis and his Red God ways. To them, that heathen got what he deserved.

Clearing his throat loudly, Jaime stood and quickly explained their strategy for taking the Dreadfort and Winterfell.

When he finished, the clan leaders murmured to one another. Soon they were smiling and nodding encouragingly up at Jaime.

The leader of the First Finders declared, “We can raise at least a hundred men in two days’ time.” 

One by one, the other clan leaders pledged to add their own men to that number.

Jaime smiled, pleased. “Good, everyone of them will be needed in taking back Winterfell.”

The leader of the Knotts clan asked, “But what of the Dreadfort? Don’t you need our men there?”

Lord Wull’s voice rumbled, “My clan will be the ones to infiltrate the Dreadfort, as well as the ones to hunt down any survivors that flee from the gates.”

A few of the leaders from the smaller clans grumbled, but most would not challenge the host of this council.

Sansa exhaled in satisfaction, but it was short lived. Now came the admission that could ruin everything. She was hesitant to bring it up, but she believed a good leader was upfront with her people. She hoped this news would not break the fragile promises already given to her by these men.

Jaime glanced over at her as if he could sense her trepidation. With a subtle nod, she indicated she would take over the proceedings.

Once more she stood to address the council. “There is something you should know,” she said, and the clansmen turned to her expectantly. “Before we had your help, we were in dire need of fighters. Keep in mind, the only way to succeed was to bring in new allies. Jon Snow was able to rally enough Wildings to help take Winterfell. This means you must not attack them; they are our supporters—”

The tent erupted in loud shouts and disparaging remarks. The clansmen would not deal with those who had raided their villages and stolen their women. 

“The Wildings are our enemy!” 

“We’ve spent generations protecting our land and our women against them!”

Sansa was not surprised by their open hostility. Jon had warned her of how the Wildings were perceived by the Northern Mountain Clans.

Lord Wull began to protest, too. “You did not tell me they would be involved! I will kill any that I see.”

Sansa leaned over the table and said empathically, “No, you will not, my lord.” She addressed everyone in the tent. “None of you will. I have given them the same assurances as you. Any who help the Starks will be treated as equals.”

Seeing that her audience was still upset, she tried a different approach. “Are you not tired of constantly being on the alert for a surprise attack from them? Wouldn’t it be better if they were our allies? They, too, are being killed off by those creatures and are threatened by the Boltons. We all have a common foe, let us all work together!”

“You should not trust them, my lady,” Lord Wull rumbled in frustration.

Sansa leveled a steely stare at him. “Regardless of their past, I have sworn that those who fight for me will be granted a place to raise their children in safety.”

The Liddles leader stated, “They do not follow the beliefs of the old gods.”

Sansa quickly reasoned, “Nor do many people of the North. But if you want to be considered equal among all, then you must afford others that respect as well. We must put aside our differences if we are going to succeed.”

“Do not be fooled by their promises, my lady. They would turn on us in a moment,” Wull growled, and the other clans murmured in agreement.

“If they do anything against you, they will have to answer to me.” Sansa’s voice rang loud and true.

None mocked her comment. The thought of attacking the strongest fort in the North made many respect her boldness.

“Fine,” Lord Wull challenged, “if they are to be equals, I want to know what you will give them.”

“Spoils will be doled out when we are finished.” Most of the clansmen snorted at that, so Sansa amended, “But all will be granted fairly.”

Lord Wull spoke over the low grumble of the other clan representatives. “Give them the abandoned settlement nearest the Wall.”

The other clansmen approved this demand. The leader of the Burley clan spoke up, “Yes, as penance for all they have done to us, give them that. Let them prove themselves by guarding our backs against those undead creatures.”

Sansa stilled at that response and knew it would never be agreed upon by the Wildings. No one would want to be in the way of those White Walkers if at all possible. Besides, she had promised her brother that the “free folk” would be treated fairly.

Instead of admitting this, she dipped her head at the suggestion. “I will take it under advisement.” She eyed the leaders gathered around the table. “We all have to work together to stop our common enemies. Are you with me, or against me?”

Though she studied the reactions of all the occupants in the tent, her main focus was on Lord Wull. She could see that he was mulling over her words, chewing on them like a cow would its cud.

Assessing the group before him, Lord Wull addressed Sansa, “My lady if you would leave us so we could discuss this in private.”

Sansa nodded stiffly but did as he requested. As she and her small entourage began to leave the large tent, she heard Lord Wull order, “Celyne, join them.”

Irritated, the young woman pushed past Sansa’s group to lead them outside. Jaime heard her grumble something about never being allowed to join in. Jaime also did not miss the look of adoration that Janpar aimed at her. When he noticed Jaime watching, the clansman scowled. 

*

Once outside, Celyne motioned for the group to follow her. Around them, the camp was setting up for the celebratory feast that was to occur after the meeting. Spying the roasting spits being set up over glowing coals, Jaime worried that they could be used for something nastier if things did not go as planned.

He nodded surreptitiously to Sansa and Brienne as they walked further away from their escort to confer. Jaime supposed his role now was to keep Wull’s eldest daughter from eavesdropping on them.

Before he could say anything to Celyne, the young woman declared, “You were most impressive in there, my lord. And are very brave to lead the attack against the Dreadfort.”

He side-eyed the exotic-looking beauty, unsure on how to reply to her as she boldly studied him. When her hand reached out and felt the strength of his bicep, Jaime frowned over at the woman. “Just what do you think you are doing?”

“I was wondering if you are as strong as you look.” She shrugged, apparently not that impressed, “You are most handsome, though. Did you lose your hand in some great battle?” Jaime glanced down at his metal hand. He wondered if she would still think him so remarkable if she heard the story.

“This?” He raised the reminder of what had been his glorious past. “Lost it due to something more foolish than war.” He smiled ruefully. “But it helped me win in other things.” He glanced over at Brienne and Sansa, who seemed deep in conversation.   
Deciding it was best to change the subject, he asked, “Do you believe your father will help us?”

“He was not pleased to hear about your aligning with the Wildings. And I neither. They have killed many of our people.”

Over the years, Jaime had heard the less romanticized version of the Wildings that Sansa seemed to believe. “Yes, they are not to be trusted.”

“You are wise not to.” When Celyne smiled seductively at him, Jaime had the sudden urge to clear his dry throat. “Tell me, is it true that the men from the south are most virile?” 

It had been awhile since anyone other than his wife had flirted with him in this manner. Of course, in his youth, women had practically thrown themselves at his feet. But that was before his hand had been chopped off, and with it, his identity and strength. Now he seemed to be regarded as an aged, one-pawed lion, being sent out to the pasture. At least, that is what his father had implied when he sent Jaime off to Casterly Rock.

Though it was almost nice to be viewed as he once was, Jaime was happily married… To a woman who could easily break him in two. And she often tried to, every night, he thought with a smirk.

Celyne lightly ran a finger up his arm, and Jaime coughed into his metal hand. Cautiously, he glanced over to his wife. She was still busy talking with Sansa. Quickly he told Celyne, “You’d do better to aim your attentions at Janpar. The man lusts after you quite obviously.”

The younger woman made a sour face and dropped her hand. “All he sees me as is a means to take power once my father dies. I can tell that you respect women, even having one fight by your side.”

He smiled, “Yes, she is my better half in more ways than one.”

She sniffed in disdain at that. “She seems capable enough if you care for one so large and hulking. But would you not like someone smaller, spicier…”

Jaime forced a pleasant smile to his lips, ready to set her straight. At that moment, Brienne broke away from Sansa and approached them.

Jaime noticed the glower on his wife’s features. Hurriedly, he introduced her to Celyne, “This is my wife, Brienne.”

Celyne hardly gave her any notice. “So you have said, but I still say you can do better.”

Brienne had been watching their exchange while she and Sansa discussed the clan leaders. She had seen the woman touch Jaime’s hand reverently, and the sight of it made Brienne want to reach for her sword.

At the woman’s bold declaration about Jaime’s romantic prospects, Brienne pushed forward, unable to contain her anger. She shoved her shoulder into the woman’s arm, nearly knocking her over. Northern clan daughter or not, the way she was looking at Jaime was downright inappropriate.

Brienne’s voice was a low, threatening purr. “I suggest you see if your father is ready for us.”

The smaller woman straightened and barked out a laugh at Brienne’s challenge. Ignoring the rage that radiated off of Brienne, Celyne grinned up at the warrior woman. Innocently, she inquired, “What¬, you do not like to share, my lady?

“I do not,” Brienne growled.

Celyne stood up straighter, lithe and elegant in her movements to show Jaime what he was missing. “I am Lord Wull’s eldest daughter, Celyne.”

Undaunted, Brienne replied, “And I am the daughter of Lord Selwyn, Evenstar of Tarth, Brienne Lannister of Casterly Rock.” 

Brienne’s reply was just as fierce as Celyne’s, but Jaime knew his wife was serious when she threw in her father’s title.

Unable to help himself, Jaime teased, “Now wench, there is plenty of me to share…” 

The clanswoman brightened at his remarks and Brienne’s gaze cooled. Jaime didn’t get a chance to finish his jest; Brienne stepped between him and Celyne.

“Lord Jaime is my husband, and you would do well to stay away from him.”

Lord Wull’s daughter was about to challenge her when Sansa was suddenly standing next to Brienne. She asked coolly, “Is there a problem?”

“No, my lady,” Celyne answered. “Just an inquiry as to this man’s availability. I see he already has a mate.” There was something about her tone that concerned Sansa, but she dared not risk losing the Northern Clans support with such a petty fight.

They are saved the risk when Janpar stuck his head from the tent. He frowned when he saw Celyne’s proximity to Jaime. With a hiss, he beckoned her to come to him. “Your father asks for you.”

With one last, suggestive glance over her shoulder at Jaime, she sauntered back to the tent. Janpar did not miss the way she rolled her hips as she moved past Jaime. He shot them a withering look and ducked back into the tent.

Cautiously, Jaime glanced over at his wife. Her eyes flicked from the tent to his face. He could not read her expression. “Now, wench. There is no need to be upset.”

Brienne suddenly fisted the front of Jaime’s tunic and kissed him long and hard. Releasing him, Jaime stared at her in amazement. How could he even think of anyone else when he had such a magnificent woman right in front of him? He smiled at her shyly, his grin a promise of what was to come tonight.

She stared at him a moment longer, her leer mirroring his.

Janpar stuck his head out of the tent once more. “They are ready for you, Lady Sansa,” he growled.

“Finished?” Sansa asked them curtly. The couple nodded.

Janpar held the tent flap open for Sansa, but when Jaime and Brienne made to enter, he blocked their path. “The clan leaders called for Lady Sansa only,” he said, staring Jaime down. “You wait out here.”

“And I am her counsel,” Brienne growled out, hand on her pommel. Janpar shrugged and let her enter, but he still barred Jaime from entering.

As she walked passed her husband, Brienne frowned to him as if to ask, ‘What was that about?’

Jaime’s mumbled reply to her was, “Don’t ask.” 

The clansman smirked and let the tent flap drop in Jaime’s face. 

*

Lord Wull sat sprawled in his chair. Once more he dominated the room with his large presence. He waited for Sansa’s party to take their places. 

Once they had settled, he stated, “It seems that you are set in your decision to align with the Wildings.”

“I am,” said Sansa forcefully.

Lord Wull nodded, “We do not agree with this, but we understand that, at the time, it was your only option.” 

His stern gaze held Sansa’s attention. She hoped she did not look as worried as she felt.

“We are confident that you will take into account our misgivings for having them be a part of this. But your bold plan calls for strong Stark leadership, and we believe you can keep them in line. For now.” He slapped his knee and barked. “Your father would be proud. The Wull Clan is in.”

Sansa’ smile was the first genuine one she had given for weeks.

*

After all the clans had finally agreed to the conditions of their plans, a large celebration commenced in the center of the camp. Music filtered throughout the air, and there were rousing talk and song among the gathered clans. The leaders had declared a détente amongst themselves for the time being.

Weapons clashed as mock battles were performed in front of the leaders to demonstrate each clan’s skills and strength. On the makeshift dais, Sansa, and the other clan's leaders watched with interest and clapped after each dashing defeat.

It would not be long before drunken fights would erupt, but, for now, there was a tentative peace.

A huge boar had been spitted over a fire. Its succulent juices flowed from the carcass to hiss onto the flames below it. Chunks of meat were sheared off and skewered on sticks, handed out first to those who were highest in power.

Soon, drunken clansmen gave boastful toasts to Lady Sansa. They spoke of the hope that there would be a new Warden in the North, and that she would look favorably on the clans. Sansa smiled regally, nodding her pleasure at the words. Now and then, she would turn to Podrick and whisper something to him. He grinned in agreement and ripped another hunk off meat off a skewer with his teeth. 

Since Sansa’s other guards were near, Brienne felt safe enough to leave her charge. She and Jaime wandered over to sit by the enormous bonfire that flared in the middle of the camp.

They grinned at each other as the former warring tribes reveled as one around them. 

After finishing their meal, Jaime rested his good hand on his wife’s thigh. They stared at the fire in silence, cups of the warm, spicy drink the clans favored forgotten at their feet. They were tired, the last few days having finally caught up with them. 

Jaime was about to propose that they head to their tent when he saw Celyne staring at him again. Noticing she had his attention, she nibbled her skewer of meat in a suggestive manner.

Jaime rolled his eyes and then pulled Brienne closer. He nearly laughed out loud at such a ridiculous notion that he would give up Brienne for this other woman. He would be happy when they were well away from these antagonistic and unpredictable people.

He glanced over at Brienne, but she seemed oblivious to the signals Celyne was sending Jaime’s way. Her gaze was on the fire, her eyes glowing in the flickering light of the flames.

“Wench, you did promise me some extra attention tonight.” He flexed his right arm, recalling the way she had pursed her lips when he hissed in pain at the removal of his metal cuff.

Too late, he saw that Brienne had noticed Celyne watching them. 

“Yes, husband, I did,” she said slowly. The look she aimed at him implied that he would be getting extra attention tonight, although it might not be the gentle kind he had envisioned.

Brienne abruptly stood and grabbed Jaime’s hand, tugging him to his feet.

She dragged him along behind her to their tent. The last glare she leveled at Celyne clearly stated, ‘Not yours.’

Unable to help himself, Jaime shot Celyne a cheeky grin, and then he was yanked off his feet and pulled from view into the tent.


	10. The Dreadfort

Two days after the celebratory feast, the few hundred able-bodied Wull clansmen were ordered by their leader to make their way towards the Dreadfort. After a loud barking rallying cry, Janpar, and his men easily melded into the woods. 

Lord Wull and his daughter then departed from the encampment with their small entourage. 

Sansa thought they could keep up with the smaller party, but soon she and her group were left to ride silently through drifts of snow, only catching glimpses of the Northmen from time to time.

At night, Lord Wull insisted that Sansa, Jaime, and Brienne join him for dinner. 

During those times, Janpar visited and advised his lord on the latest scouting reports and group movement. The Northern Clansman leader would then turn to Jaime and ask for his opinion on the matter.

It wasn’t hard to miss the scowls that Janpar leveled at Jaime during those meals. Soon, even Sansa had noticed the animosity and pulled Jaime aside to ask him if there was anything he could do to lessen the tension. Jaime did not have an answer for her. For some reason, Wull seemed to rely more on Jaime’s judgment than on Janpar’s for this excursion.

At least Celyne was staying away from the Lannister lion, but then, an imposing Brienne never left his side.

Jaime hoped Janpar’s jealousy would not become an issue, but he made sure to keep a wary eye out for the heavily scarred young man whenever they rode.

*

It was early afternoon when Jaime and Brienne ambled up to the fortified gates of the Dreadfort. 

Less than a mile back, they had left their horses with Podrick and Sansa, both hidden safely in a secluded area with four personal guards and a contingent of fighters from Lord Wull’s group.

Meanwhile, Celyne’s group of fighters had dispersed throughout the forest surrounding the Dreadfort and would be waiting for any soldiers that escaped that evening. Just beyond the clearing, in the heavily forested area, Lord Wull would oversee and coordinate the attacks.

The entire operation had been dubbed, ‘The Hunt for the Betrayers.’

The Boltons and their allies had made a huge mistake when they killed the Starks and tried to subjugate the people of the North.

Stopping outside of the tall, imposing gates to the Dreadfort, Jaime and Brienne glanced up at the protected ramparts. No one called a challenge down to them, and Jaime wondered if the guards were even paying attention to what was going on below, or maybe they just did not care. He shrugged at his wife.

Brienne pounded on the thick wooden door. 

“They really should install a knocker,” Jaime groused good-naturedly, his arms tucked into his armpits to keep the cold from biting too much. 

Brienne threw him an exasperated look and then began to kick the door.

Finally, a loud, gruff voice barked down at them from the ramparts. “Who goes there?” 

Brienne stepped back from the door, and they looked up. They could just make out the top of the guard’s head as he peered over at them. There was the distinct ‘click’ of a crossbow being loaded. 

Jaime filled his voice with the disdain of a bored liege lord; they did have a role to play, after all. “The Lord and Lady Lannister of Casterly Rock.” 

Another guard popped up to look down at them. “What do you want?” 

Jaime snorted and called out loudly, “Well, I would think that since we killed Stannis the Usurper, you lot would be more than willing to grant us safety from our pursuers.” 

Both guards disappeared, and a wave of muffled bickering tumbled from the ramparts above. Jaime and Brienne listened silently for a moment until Jaime decided to help them along by shouting, “I thought Roose Bolton was an ally of my father, Lord Tywin Lannister, the King’s Hand. Was I mistaken?”

The voice from above was less self-assured, “How do we even know you two are the Kingslayers?” 

Jaime noticed Brienne’s scowl deepen at the moniker.

Hiding his sneer, he removed the glove from his right hand and waved the steel appendage at the figures on the wall. “Do you know of any other one-armed men tagging along with giant wenches?”

His jape was met with silence. 

Jaime frowned and shouted, “Come now, there must be someone who can vouch for us.” 

His stump was already aching from the cold, and it fueled the frustration and anger he was trying to reign in. Last he’d heard, there were at least two Freys stationed there. They should know a Lannister lion on sight. 

Jaime forced himself to smile pleasantly up at the guards. 

“You can talk to Steelshanks,” one of the guards called down finally, before disappearing from the battlements.

Brienne spoke low enough for only Jaime to hear, “I thought he would have been with Ramsay.”

“Not to worry, wife,” Jaime responded cheerfully. “Besides, this will make things easier.” 

If he had a choice between confronting anyone from their past, he would rather it be the man who had helped him save the wench from the bear pit than the ones who had put her there. 

Finally, the massive doors groaned opened. The guards rushed out and grabbed them. After confiscating their weapons, they were hustled into the yard. Jaime was glad they had left their Valyrian blades and Brienne’s ornate dagger with Podrick. He knew his wife would be displeased if anything were to happen to Oathkeeper.

Looking around, Jaime was surprised to see so many guards milling about the yard. Even more seemed to be manning the ramparts. He exchanged a raised eyebrow with his wife, but they knew to keep their questions to themselves. 

A large man strode across the yard to meet them, his meaty hand on the pommel of his sword. A fleeting grin split his broad face when he recognized them. Jaime supposed it was better than a scowl.

Jaime held out his left hand to the man, “Ah, Steelshanks Walton, how nice to see you again.” Steelshanks may have helped return them to King’s Landing, but Jaime had still lost his hand due to the men under Lord Bolton’s command. 

The reminder was not lost on the grizzled knight. Steelshanks stared at Jaime’s hand a moment and then reached out and shook it. 

“You’re a long way from King’s Landing, my lord,” stated Steelshanks roughly. 

“Pardon our unexpected arrival. We are but weary travelers in need of sanctuary for the night from our pursuers. It seems Stannis’ allies were none too pleased that we killed him and his witch.” The cheerful tone had returned to Jaime’s voice, and he smiled pleasantly at his old captor. 

Steelshanks let out a long breath, and then he grinned again. “Yes, no doubt the Stark loyalists are rather upset about that. Well, you and your wife are very brave. How long would you like to stay?”

Jaime used his most charming smile. “Not long. We will continue to Casterly Rock in the morning. Father is most anxious for us to begin our family.” 

As he squeezed his bride to his side, Jaime could practically see the gears turning in the old knight’s mind. Steelshanks had obviously realized how favorably this would reflect on his Lord and himself. Jaime continued, “And not to worry, I am sure my father will properly compensate you for all your help.” 

Bolton's second-in-command beamed at the mention of monetary gain. 

Knowing when to press, Jaime asked innocently, “My father did pay you handsomely the last time, I take it?”

Steelshanks bobbed his head amicably. “Your father was most generous. And thank you for keeping to your word for not having me blamed for your maiming.” His greedy smile gauged their tired features. “Well, I would certainly accord you the right to stay the night.” 

As Steelshanks began to walk them towards the main building, he stated, “I am afraid Lord Ramsay isn’t here. But we received a crow that he should be arriving sometime early on the morrow from Winterfell.”

Jaime refrained from glancing at Brienne. Ramsay should still be out hunting for Sansa.

Jaime asked, “Oh, was there a problem?” And he nonchalantly polished his metal hand on his left arm. Though he disliked the game, sometimes it helped to know how to play it well. Thankfully Steelshanks seemed to be a novice at it.

The old knight tracked the movement of the metal appendage with his eyes and licked his suddenly dry lips. “Nothing to concern yourselves with, my lord. He had to report to his father at Winterfell with pertinent information. I know he will be sorry to have missed you – perhaps you can stay longer?”

“We would be honored,” Jaime replied smoothly. “Though I am curious what would be considered so important to drag him from his ancestral home and rush him off to Winterfell in the first place.”

Jaime now feared what information Ramsay had tortured out of Lord Cerwyn. Hopefully, it was only some nonsense that had nothing to do with their upcoming siege against Winterfell. Otherwise, they would have to warn Jon and his brother before it was too late. 

Catching the slight concern in Jaime’s voice, Steelshanks reassured him, “There is no need for worry, my lord.” 

Rocking on his heels, Jaime said, “I am sure.” 

He realized that was all he would get out of the old knight without raising suspicion, so he veered the conversation towards their plan of attack. “Anyway, I am sure Lord Ramsay and his father would be most enthused with what my wife and I have accomplished. I say it certainly was not easy. We had to battle many to escape Stannis’ camp. I almost did not make it—” Jaime coughed a little into his steel hand.

Noticing Brienne rolling her eyes at his acting, Jaime switched tactics and rubbed his stomach. “Yes, and we certainly could use a warm meal tonight after such a harrowing task of killing our common enemy.” He turned to Brienne. “Do you think father will be pleased with how things are going so far?” 

Brienne gave a slight shrug, which caused Steelshanks to raise his bushy eyebrows in concern.

Jaime swore he could see Steelshanks having a sudden epiphany, for the large man called excitedly over to a page, “Go to the kitchens and tell them to prepare a great feast for tonight’s dinner.” 

The page quickly nodded and raced off.

Brienne side-eyed her husband and her scowl deepened. “Oh, I do not know about a party,” she interjected. “We are rather tired and—” 

Steelshanks shrugged off Brienne’s words. “I will not hear it. You two are heroes, and my men could use the distraction.” 

Jaime bowed. “You are a most generous host. I will certainly tell Father how well the Lannister allies looked after his family.”   
Hiding his smug grin, Jaime could not believe how smoothly their plans were working so far. Now he just had to wait for the right moment to spring phase two. They still had to convince Steelshanks to grant them access to the kitchens.

Steelshanks beamed. “Good, then let us move into the main hall where it is warmer.” After a quick nod from them, he pushed open the heavy door and led them inside the foreboding structure.

Despite its vaulted ceilings supported by stone columns and rough-hewn walls, the great hall was surprisingly warm. Jaime and Brienne stood in front of the fire that raged in the immense hearth, trying to drive away the chill that permeated their bones. While they thawed out, a servant rushed over and relieved them of their cloaks. 

When Steelshanks began to beckon over the steward, he explained to his guests, “I will have someone show you to your chambers.”

Taking a breath, Jaime was about to initiate the second half of their plan, when someone shouted at them from down the hall.

It was a voice Jaime, and Brienne knew too well, and he felt shivers tingle up his back. 

When he took an instinctive step back, Jaime heard Brienne exhale in alarm, and she grasped his arm tight in worry. 

Instantly, Jaime reached for the missing weapon at his hip. Cursing when his hand met air, he watched uneasily as Urswyck stalked towards them. Zollo and Shagwell followed close behind their leader. The Brave Companions had no business being here and Jaime cursed under his breath.

“Why if it isn’t Lord Stump and his Beast,” Urswyck called, and Jaime placed himself in front of Brienne.

Urswyck’s voice brought the memories of their time captured by the Brave Companions to come flooding back — from the beatings and threats of raping Brienne, to the blinding pain of an arakh chopping off Jaime’s hand. 

A sickening feeling of vulnerability came crashing down on Jaime when he realized that they were alone and unarmed, sealed in an impregnable fortress, and confronted by their worst enemies. 

Regardless that the Lannisters and Boltons were allies, the Brave Companions could not be trusted to follow anything but their own twisted moral code. Jaime had assumed that these men were with Ramsay out searching for Lady Sansa. If he had known they would find them here, in this castle, he would have called the entire operation off.

Urswyck sauntered up to them with his sword drawn. His red-rimmed eyes ran up and down Brienne’s length, and he licked his pale lips in anticipation. “I was hoping to run someday into you two again. We have unfinished business, Beauty.” 

Brienne’s face was red with rage, and she took a step forward to confront him. Jaime put a hand on her arm, but it was Steelshanks who stepped between the Brave Companions and his guests.

Before Jaime could speak, Shagwell the Fool, tittered, “We heard that One Hand and his monster bride had arrived. Come looking for a reason to lose your other hand?” He brandished his three-headed flail and waved it threateningly at them.

Jaime always considered him and Zollo, the worst members of the bunch, but hid his trepidation with forced frivolity. Ignoring the fool, Jaime quipped, “I did not know that you kept such… charming company, Steelshanks.” 

Steelshanks shook his head. “They are Ramsay’s men.” 

This admittance caused the Brave Companions to pull up short. Urswycks frowned in surprise at Steelshank. “Why are they not in chains?” He demanded.

Already this confrontation was frustrating Steelshanks. He did not approve of the Brave Companions, but Lord Ramsay had given them carte blanche among the rest of his men. 

“They are allies to the Boltons,” Steelshanks said finally, “and not our enemies.” 

Zollo pushed his fat body forward. “They are liars and not to be trusted. They just happened to arrive now?” He waved his Dothraki arakh at the Lannisters and was pleased to see the stalwart Jaime flinch. 

“I will vouch for them,” Steelshanks growled.

“What, these Kingslayer’s?” Snorting, Urswyck eyed the Lannisters with a cruel grin. “Though if I recall when we last met, they acted more like mewing children.”

Furious, Jaime itched to kill these men, and he could tell that his wife did as well. But there was too much at stake to spill blood now. At least, their anger had conquered any fear that had first overwhelmed them. Glancing at Brienne, he grasped her hand tight, and she squeezed his back in support. They would just have to wait and bide their time.

Steelshanks drew himself to his full height and stared Urswyck down. “You and your men will do well to remember that the Lannisters are Lord Bolton’s honored visitors, and I have given them guest rights.” 

The threat was clear. They were under Steelshanks protection, and they were not to be touched. Shagwell pulled a face, and Urswyck glared.

Steelshanks turned back to Jaime and Brienne. “Come, my lord and lady. I will show you to your chambers.”

As he moved to lead them away, Jaime interjected, “Actually, we have heard marvelous things about your fortress. We would love a brief tour.” 

Regardless that their old nightmares from the past had unexpectedly shown up, Jaime and Brienne still had a job to do.

“It would be my honor,” Steelshanks solemnly intoned and took them down a different corridor.

But they could not shake the Brave Companions that easily. The three men followed along behind them, snickering and hooting. Though they dare not try anything against the Lannisters in the open, that did not keep them from shouting crude comments at their backs.

“I heard you two had married. Makes sense, seeing as you’re hardly a man and she is one.” Shagwell held up his right hand, and it flopped over dramatically. He giggled like the half-mad fool that he was.

“Nah, I still can’t see it, Zollo snorted. “The lame lord must have married her because he needed a bodyguard.” 

Jaime decided it was time to take over the situation. With a condescending tone, he waved his metal hand about their surroundings, “I must say, the place is enormous… maybe not the full tour, Steelshanks.” 

“Yes, of course, my lord.” Steelshanks led them around the corridor to a very well-lit hallway.

Jaime grimaced when he realized that the torch holders on the walls were actual skeletal arms and hands. “How…quaint.” 

“Don’t worry, Kingslayer, none of them are yours.” Urswyck chortled, his laugh paper thin. “Though maybe that one there is.”

As the Brave Companions guffawed, Brienne suddenly stopped and pivoted to confront them. 

Urswyck caught her hostile glare. “Careful, Beauty. A look like that might send a man the wrong message.”

“If you were even half a man, then I would be concerned,” Brienne volleyed back. Her voice was a low growl of fury. Jaime put his hand on her arm as a warning.

The gesture was not missed, and the three men brayed with laughter. Urswyck grinned at her challenge, and the dark veins on his face seemed to pulse as his imagination took over. “Oh, one of these days, I will show you a real man, Beauty,” Urswyck leered, “We all will.”

Jaime’s grasp on Brienne’s arm tightened. He hoped that she would not decide to take revenge now. There was too much they still had to do first, and it would not help to be sidetracked by the past.

Realizing that the conversation had gotten out of hand again, Steelshanks barked, “Enough. You all have work to do. Get out of our sight. Now.”

Grumbling, the Brave Companions made their way out of the hall, sneering at the Lannisters as they went.

A retreating Shagwell the Fool mocked, “And don’t forget that you both owe Locke, a bear!”

Satisfied that they would be left alone, Steelshanks turned back to his guests. He could tell they were both displeased by the confrontation, and he grimaced, hoping this would not get back to Lord Tywin Lannister. 

Steelshanks knew that the Brave Companions were only at the Dreadfort because Ramsay Bolton thought they could be useful. Frankly, their association was hurting the new Warden’s image more than helping it. Lord Ramsay would never understand that men like those were only out for blood and glory; they hated anything that had to do with nobility. They may play nice with the Boltons now, but they were far from trustworthy.

“Apologies, my lord and lady,” he said when the three treacherous men had turned the corner. He still remembered Lady Brienne in the bear pit with only a dull tourney sword for defense. It was a good thing Locke was no longer around, for he feared the amount of blood that would be spilled in this hall.

Jaime shrugged dismissively, but his expression was still grim. He was seething inside but hid his disdain well. He forced out in a jovial tone, “Perhaps it would be best if Lord Bolton made new friends, Steelshanks.” 

A flustered Steelshanks tried to explain, but Jaime cut him off, “I am sure no offense was intended.” While the older knight was still reeling, Jaime pounced. Using his most beguiling smile, he said offhandedly to Steelshanks, “I wonder, with such a fearsome fortress, why you would need such men, let alone so many soldiers on the ramparts. Expecting trouble?”

Momentarily taken off guard, Steelshanks admitted, “There have been some grumblings from the locales lately, but Lord Ramsay has dealt with it.” 

Hoping to win the Lannisters back into his good graces, he lowered his voice and said conspiratorially, “Surprisingly enough, there was even a rumor that someone was fool enough to try an attack here.”

Jaime’s stomach clenched at that, and he felt Brienne’s hand once more find his and tighten in his grasp. 

Calmly, he inquired, “Surely it is a lie.”

Steelshanks shook his head, “Don’t worry, my lord, it was only the desperate rumblings from a dying noble. I assure you that you will be safe staying here tonight. Stannis’ supporters will not be killing the heir of Casterly Rock on my watch. Lord Ramsay is quite adept at tracking down such rumors before they become a problem.”

Jaime worried about what Lord Cerwyn might have revealed under duress. Hopefully, whatever information he had given in regards to the Dreadfort would only cast suspicion on a possible Winterfell attack.

Playing off his apprehension as interest, Jaime asked, “Is Ramsay really that good?”

Still following the macabre torch bearers, Steelshanks nodded and led them further down the corridor. “Yes, his father often sends him out on ‘errands.’ Lord Ramsay seems to enjoy the family tradition a bit too much if you ask me, but you cannot argue with his results. This is the first unrest since we took over the North. There is even talk that the Lady Sansa Stark is nearby.”

Jaime reacted with mock-shock that Steelshanks missed. “Surely she would not be leading the attack against the Dreadfort.”

Steelshanks snorted. “I imagine not. But one must still be prepared, just in case.”

Brienne mumbled, “Well, I do not see how they could hope to succeed.” 

In a proud cadence, Steelshanks replied, “Exactly, my lady, no one can breach us from the outside.”

Jaime tilted his head. “Well, good. I look forward to meeting the man that many speak so highly of.” 

They planned to be well gone before that bastard Ramsay made it back here.

Steelshanks led them past the banquet hall, which was already being readied for tonight’s celebration. Jaime tutted and pretended to be pleased with the setup. “Yes, yes, simply marvelous. Don’t you think so, dear?” 

Brienne forced a pleasant smile and bobbed her head. Steelshanks looked pleased. With a slight motion of his hand, they continued the tour.

Once more they followed the corridor of skeletal torch bearers, their boney claws pointing down the hall to a special destination. This reminded Jaime of walking under an arch of swords when he was granted the Kingsguard cloak — only this arch was far grimmer. 

After a few more turns, the ghastly honor guard ended on either side of an unremarkable door. 

Steelshanks stopped in front of the solid door. “Here is something my lord is very proud of. This is his family’s trophy room.” 

Jaime crinkled his nose as a most peculiar unpleasant smell seeped out from behind the thick door. 

Upon opening it, they were affronted by the horrible stench of death. Not even the strong scent of wax and herbs could mask the putrid smell.

Both Lannisters fought back their grimaces and peered cautiously within.

Before them were piles of skins. The yellow, brittle pouches of old dried out husks of human flesh were stacked throughout the room. The oldest ones were mounted on the walls. Those honored few seemed to cling to the wall more than be pinned to it.

Brienne could not enter; the sickly sweet smell was overpowering. Instead, she waited outside the doorway, refusing to step inside. 

Used to the odor, Steelshanks went into the room, leaving them behind. “We had hoped to add Stannis and his witch here as well.” 

Jaime did not blame his wife’s refusal to enter. The stench was atrocious, worse than any battlefield that he had ever been on. He remained in the doorway instead and quipped good-naturedly to Steelshanks, “Sorry we ruined that for you.” 

Not hearing the slightly mocking tone in Jaime’s voice, Steelshanks nodded his gratitude. “Don’t get me wrong, my lord. Anytime a war can be avoided is a good thing.”

Jaime heard Brienne breathing raggedly through her mouth. It almost sounded like a plaintive whine, and he sympathized. Jaime feigned interest to what Steelshanks was droning on about, but he was as grossed out as his wife. The smell reminded him of when his rotting hand had been tied around his neck.

Steelshanks was too focused on the trophies to notice their disgust. Instead, he pointed to the oldest skins nearest to them on the wall. “The ones there are the old Stark lords that the ancestors of this House had killed.”

Jaime reluctantly leaned his head further into the room. “How… marvelous.”

With horrified fascination, he could not help but jape, “I imagine you have trouble with rats, though.” 

Grimly, Steelshanks admitted, “Yes, and we must also be careful with open flame around them. Only covered lamps are allowed to be used in this room.”

Brienne now feared that she was going to throw up. She quickly covered her mouth and backed away from Jaime. 

“I can see how that would be an issue. Well, if you ever need candles, this would be your place to start.” Jaime stated cheerfully, not noticing Brienne’s hasty retreat.

Steelshanks forced a smile but did not say anything. He did not know if the lord was insulting the Boltons’ proclivities or not.

Hearing a slight gagging noise nearby, Jaime swiveled to face his wife. He realized that he has never seen her turn such a shade of green before. Afraid she might faint; Jaime pulled Brienne further from the offending odor and whispered, “Sorry, love. I need to remember your condition.”

At the words concerning her perceived weakness, Brienne took a few stubborn, deep breaths and glared at him. 

Relieved she was feeling better, Jaime turned to Steelshanks. The larger man studied them in concern, and Jaime quickly amended, “We are a bit tired from being on the run.”

Steelshanks nodded. “Then I am sure the next place is something that you and your wife will enjoy later this evening. Don’t worry; it is close by.”

He led them down the corridor and stopped in front of a thick door. The large man had no problem pulling it open. After taking them down a long flight of steps, he led them into an enormous, tiled room set up for bathing. A large thermal pool took up the majority of the room, the water inside bubbling merrily. Behind the pool were other, smaller baths, steam rising off their surfaces.

There was a faint smell of mildew in the air, but that was preferable to the last room they had been in. But it was unbearably hot inside the chamber and Brienne tugged at the collar of her tunic. 

Jaime smirked at her and indicated the pools. “Reminds me of a different bath, hum, wench?”

Still feeling horrid, Brienne could only roll her eyes at him.

“From this room, the entire fortress is warmed,” said Steelshanks. “But be careful which pools you use.” He pointed to the ones in the back that had steps. “Those are for bathing. The large one here is so hot that the boiling water would melt the flesh from your bones.” 

Jaime glanced around, fascinated. “Very impressive. We would not bother anyone if we used them?” He wagged his eyebrows at his wife.

Steelshanks smiled slyly at the newlyweds. “No, you are our only guests. But just to make sure, I will see that these will be set aside for your personal use tonight.”

Jaime would love to soak in them. Maybe that would finally rid the chill from his bones that had been dogging him since the moment they arrived in this accursed Northern land. 

Brienne was hardly paying attention now. The heat from the room was making her head swim. She did not know what was worse, the stench of rotting flesh in the last room, or the hot steamy air in this one. 

Unable to stand the humidity a moment longer, Brienne abandoned the chamber and fled back to the cool hallway. Jaime and Steelshanks followed close behind. 

Jaime gave her a concerned look, but she merely shook her head at him. The last thing she wanted was for him to make a fuss over her. And a tour of the Keep was critical to their mission. It was imperative that they get to the kitchens and deliver the potion that would knock Steelshanks and his men out.

As Brienne leaned her forehead against the cool stone of the hallway, Jaime gave her one last look of concern and then turned abruptly to Steelshanks. 

Never one to miss an opportunity, he explained, “My wife is overheated. I wonder if you might have some calming tea in the kitchens?”

Alarmed, Steelshanks quickly nodded. “I can have it brought to your chambers immediately.”

Jaime frowned, and then reasoned, “I am sure the kitchens are closer. Besides, I would not mind seeing what we are having for tonight’s feast. And when my wife is feeling better, I am sure she could learn a thing or two about how to run a proper kitchen.”

Finally getting her nausea in check, Brienne clenched her jaw but nodded dutifully at his words. Jaime nearly laughed at the expression that Steelshanks gave her. He guessed that Bolton’s second was surprised that his mighty wench would put up with such condescension. Truthfully, Jaime was surprised she hadn’t punched him for such a statement. Knowing his wench, there was a possibility that he would regret that comment later tonight when she was feeling better. But then she did understand the necessity of their roles.

Not wanting to miss another opportunity to ingratiate himself to the Lord of Casterly Rock, Steelshanks was already heading down the corridor. “Yes, of course,” he said over his shoulder, “follow me right this way, my lord and lady.”

Grinning triumphantly, Jaime motioned Brienne ahead of him. He was happy to see that at least her irritation had helped abate her queasiness. He would have to remember that trick for the future.


	11. The Dreadfort 2

Steelshanks led Jaime and Brienne further into the Dreadfort, pointing out various historical tapestries of note, as well as the locations that some of the many corridors led to. The Lannisters were completely turned around by the time they reached the outer doors to the kitchens.

Just before entering, a befuddled Jaime asked, “Well, this is embarrassing. Is there a privy nearby? It was a rather long journey to get here, after all.”

Steelshanks grinned and pointed down the hallway they had just come from. 

With a nod of thanks, Jaime left Brienne behind to the awkward presence of Steelshanks company. He overheard the older knight as he tried to make conversation, “Err, so, how do you like the North, my lady?”

Jaime could just imagine his wench groaning internally at the small talk, but she had been raised as a highborn lady before she had become a warrior maid. She would remember her manners and would smile pleasantly. Sure enough, he caught the polite rebuttal, “Invigorating. And you?”

Jaime smirked as he shut the door to the privy. ‘Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that scintillating chat,’ he chuckled to himself.

After making sure that the door was barred, Jaime grabbed his metal hand and pried it from his wrist. He’d had a small compartment carved into the underside of the appendage—perfect for smuggling contraband. 

Crouching on the dirty floor of the privy, Jaime shook the hand, and a small animal bladder tumbled out. Within the organ was a clear liquid of concentrated sleeping potion. The healer of the Northern Mountain Clans had promised the draught would knock out any who drank it—even the smallest dose could down a man twice Jaime’s size. 

Grimacing, Jaime gingerly tucked it up his right sleeve. After making sure his steel hand was properly locked back in place, he stood and straightened his appearance. 

With a deep inhale, Jaime left the privy and joined the two who were now aimlessly glancing about the corridor, hoping for anything to distract them. Hearing his approach, Brienne turned to him, and her smile beamed in relief. “Husband, there you are. I feared you had fallen in.”

Shrugging, Jaime answered, “Just the usual difficulties with having only one hand.”

As Brienne helped readjust Jaime’s tunic, she gazed questioningly into his eyes. She was rewarded with a cheeky grin from her husband. Nodding surreptitiously, she took a step back. Jaime was happy to see that the natural pale color of her skin was less ashen now.

Without another word, they followed their tour guide into the kitchen. Steelshanks shoved open the doors, and they emerged from the serenity of the corridor into the insanity of the kitchen’s vast workspace. 

Frenzied staff rushed about the large area, and the cacophony of clanging pots and pans made it difficult to hear Steelshanks’ narration of what they were seeing. Meals were being hastily prepared, pots were being stirred, and the fresh dough was being beaten into submission. 

The various smells were overpowering, and Brienne fought not to grimace from them.

A bulky woman stood in the center of all it, directing her staff around like a general on a battlefield. Cooks and maids glanced her way for approval, and she nodded her blessing or hissed at their progress. Spinning on her heel, she brushed perspiration from her brown with a kitchen towel and directed a frazzled maid to make quick work on several trays of meat pies that were being prepared.

Brienne stared wide-eyed at the frantic activity, and Jaime nodded, pleased. “Yes, this will do nicely.”

The lead cook glared at the intrusion. As she made her way over to them, she shooed the maid away from the pies and directed her to the stove where a large pot of gravy was bubbling. 

When she glared up at Steelshanks, he raised a hand and explained, “We apologize for the interruption, but the Lady Lannister is not feeling well and would like a cup of tea.”

Pleased she could get rid of them so easily, the cook began, “I can have it sent—”

Jaime coolly interrupted the woman, “Actually, my wife is more interested in how to run a successful kitchen. She is planning on doing so once we reach our home at Casterly Rock.”

The woman gave Brienne a once over, taking in her befuddled look and unladylike appearance. With a curt nod, she led them back to the stove and gestured to the sauce. “This gravy will go in the meat pies now. If it cools too much, it’ll be useless.   
Timing is everything, you see, my lady. And proper portions. You want your guests to eat well, but Seven help you if you run out of food before dinner is nigh done.”

Brienne nodded along as if she were making a mental note for future meals. 

Jaime snuck behind her, dipped his finger into the gravy, and then popped it into his mouth. “Hum, this is good, but—”

The cook gaped at him, clearly outraged. “Yes, my lord?”

“I am afraid this is missing something…” Jaime peered pensively up at the smoky ceiling and smacked his lips. “I know! It needs more flavoring!” 

Lord Wull’s healer had insisted that Jaime and Brienne would need to add stringent flavoring to help hide the strong, bitter taste of the sleeping draught. 

The cook sputtered for a moment before tasting the sauce herself. She glared and then turned to the maid who had been in charge of stirring. “You heard the lord—this gravy is too bland, girl!” 

Flustered, the maid darted away. As she scurried to the pantry to grab some seasonings, Jaime wagged his eyebrows at Brienne to remind her to play her part. 

With an undignified frown and a slight hunch to her shoulders, Brienne wandered away toward the ovens. The cook was barking at the maid to hurry up with the meat pies when she noticed Brienne’s sudden absence. 

“My lady!” The cook shouted, “The oven fires are hot!”

The maid returned with a bundle of herbs and Jaime took them from her hands. “Not to worry, I know just what to add!”

The girl looked at the cook in protest, but the large woman was rushing across the kitchen towards Brienne. Jaime held his breath to keep from laughing; his wife had just lit a towel on fire. When the maid scurried off to assist, Jaime glanced around the room to make sure no one was watching.

While Steelshanks scrambled for water and the cook screeched at Brienne to step away from the ovens, Jaime slipped the bladder of potion from his wrist. Once the whole thing was dropped into the pot of gravy, he gave it a quick stir. The bubbling liquid would cook down the organ, releasing the contents and destroying any evidence. He watched, pleased, as the tissue broke apart and then sank to the bottom of the pot.

By the time the maid had tossed a bowl of flour on the burning towel, Jaime had dumped all the herbs into the pot, saying a quick prayer to the Seven that it would be undetectable. 

Stepping away from the stove, Jaime took in the sight before him. 

“Oh my,” he said loudly, watching the cook and the maid bat at a smoldering towel on the floor. Brienne stood nearby wearing a mortified expression. Steelshanks was simply clucking at the mess while stealing bits of discarded pie crust from a nearby tabletop.

Jaime turned to Brienne. “You know, wife,” he said, “perhaps not all highborn ladies are meant to tend the kitchens.”

The cook glanced up at him and shot another glare at Brienne. Then she swatted the maid. “The gravy, girl! Don’t let it cool! Get it in the pies!”

The maid rushed over to the stove, and Jaime sidled up to her. “Don’t worry,” he assured her, “I’ve added the right amount of herbs. It’s perfect now.”

The maid looked at the pot suspiciously, but when the cook shouted again, the girl whisked the pot from the stove and began ladling the gravy into the individual pies. 

Confident that maid was too harried to test the gravy herself, Jaime strode over to Brienne. Grasping her elbow, he steered her away from the ovens. “Come, wife, I think it’s time we take our leave.”

Steelshanks nodded vigorously. “Yes, perhaps it is better if we take this tour elsewhere.”

As they exited the kitchens, Jaime stated, “Thank you so much for your hospitality, Steelshanks, my father will be pleased that he supported the correct Warden of the North. I am sure there is much more to see of your delightful Keep, but my wife and I would like to rest before dinner. I am afraid the day’s excitement is finally catching up with us. Oh, and don’t forget about the tea.” 

Beaming at Jaime’s compliments, Steelshanks bowed and assured them he would have tea brought up to their rooms right away. He called over to a page who led them to their chambers. As they followed the silent boy down the corridor, Jaime thought he heard the distinct jingle of a jester’s cap bells nearby. He felt Brienne tense next to him; she had heard it too. It sounded as if they were being followed.

*

When they entered their chambers, the page asked, “Shall I start a fire for you, my lord?”

Jaime began to answer when Brienne cut him off. “That is alright; I will take care of it.” 

“Yes, milady.” And the small boy bowed and left. 

Brienne watched him shut the door, and Jaime caught the look of worry that stole momentarily across her features. 

A sudden loud knock on the door startled Brienne. Before she could answer, the maid from the kitchens entered and deposited the tea on a nearby table. “Milady, shall I pour for you?”

“No, no, I have it.” An impatient Brienne was already rushing the girl from the room. Jaime frowned; his wife was usually not so abrupt with the servants.

Sensing his gaze on her, Brienne stared briefly into his eyes and then turned her back on him. “I need your help, Jaime,” she said, grabbing the end of a squat armoire. “I do not wish for any more unplanned visitors.” 

It was not just the use of his first name that gave Jaime pause, but also the sound of caution in her tone. But surely the Brave Companions would not try anything this close to mealtime, he thought. Instead, he said, “Wife, are you sure this is necessary? In just a few short hours we will have to move it again and—“

The hard stare she aimed his way made him gulp, and he quickly amended, “Yes, of course, love.”

Hastily, he moved to the other side of the armoire, and together they dragged it against the door. Brienne did most of the work; her frustration and anxiety gave her a sudden burst of energy.

Jaime knew he was not the only one troubled by the Brave Companions being there. It was Brienne’s stubborn resolve that gave him the strength to not flee, and he could not be more proud of her for facing them down in the corridor earlier. Those odious men might not have raped her back at Harrenhal, but she had still suffered at their hands.

Once the door was blocked to Brienne’s satisfaction, Jaime stood there, willing her to talk to him.

He glowered when Brienne instead strode from him towards the window and opened it. She stood in the chilled breeze, ignoring him. 

Brienne inhaled the crisp, clean air deeply, attempting to quell the apprehension that overwhelmed her mind and her stomach. After the stench of the skin room, the heat of the thermals, and the chaos of the kitchens, she needed to clear her head and steady her rolling stomach. 

Jaime, though, was freezing. He yanked the blankets off of the bed and wrapped himself in them. 

He warily eyed the open window as cold air seeped in. “Wench, this chill could lead to my leaving you.”

“Sorry.” But he could tell she was not.

Understanding that Brienne was not ready to confide in him yet, Jaime dropped the blankets and entered the privy set in one corner of their room. The cramped little closet did nothing for his anxious mood. Damn if it wasn’t even colder in the privy than in their chamber! The opening to the toilet went right outside, and the draft was miserable. 

When he had finished, Jaime was pleasantly surprised to discover that Brienne had already started a fire and was pulling some chairs closer to it.

Smiling cockily, he approached her. “I think I will keep you after all.”

She snorted at that, her back still to him. “But are you sure I will keep you?”

He hugged her from behind, “Ah, wench…” he rested his icy nose on her thick neck, and she yelped. “Is that cold enough for you?” 

“You are a beast.” With a forced laugh, she broke away from him. As she poured them some tea, she stated, “I cannot believe Lord Cerwyn told them about the Dreadfort.”

Jaime shrugged and sat down in front of the raging fire. “At the time, he must have thought it was never going to happen.”

She stopped her tea preparation and stared at him in concern. “Do you think he told them about Winterfell as well?”

Jaime moved to add more wood to the fire. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough. But then, they seemed rather disbelieving of an attack against the Dreadfort. Hopefully, that would cast doubt on anything else Lord Cerwyn had to say. But I am glad we got Jon and my brother their own reinforcements.”

“And us as well.” Brienne paused in carrying over the tea, lost in thought.

Guessing what was bothering her, Jaime patted his lap. “Come here, my Lady Wench.” 

Smirking, Brienne instead sat on the chair next to him and handed him the warm cup. As she took a big sip from hers, she stared deeply into the fire, mulling over her worries.

Jaime placed the cup of tea on the floor and grasped her warm hand in his. He noticed that she was still a bit pale, and he brushed his cool metal hand lightly across her forehead. “Did the fresh air and tea help? Are you feeling better now?” 

“Yes.” She glanced worriedly over at him. “Jaime, when I first heard that voice…” 

Brienne trailed off. Once more she glared at the flames in their hearth. She was angry that their run in with those bastards had so easily put her on edge. She hoped that when this mission was over, they would face those demons and make them suffer in return. 

Jaime reached over and tugged on her chin until she was looking at him. Her reassuring smile did not reach her eyes. 

Sighing, he shared her haunted thoughts. “I felt it, too,” he admitted. He paused and then added in a joking manner, “Hell, I nearly pissed myself.” She did not smile, so he asked earnestly, “Tell me, Brienne, please.” 

Biting her lower lip at the memory, her voice was a low husk. “It brought me back to that horrible time in the Riverlands when we were their prisoners. When I—I could not protect us.”

Jaime glanced away. He felt the same as she did, but even more responsible. It was his ego that had put them into the enemy’s hands. 

Reading his expression, Brienne reached out and lightly ran her fingertips over his bearded cheek. He lifted his metal hand, and it rested briefly on hers.

Her blue eyes gazed into his emerald ones in concern. “Are you alright?” When he began to brush off her worry, she added, “I have heard many times of you awakening from nightmares, yelling about your hand.” She grasped his right wrist and lightly squeezed it. “You were affected worse than I.”

“I do not know about that, Brienne. I have heard whimpers from your slumber as well.” He sighed. “Those bastards have hurt us both.” He pulled free of her hold and stared sullenly at the fire.

He could tell she was about to argue with him, but she stopped herself. He was not wrong, not truly. 

Forcing out a stubborn breath of strength that made Jaime’s heart swell from her bravery, Brienne said, “I just figured they would have gotten their just deserts over time, but finding them here… At first, I wanted to run away screaming; now I just want to cut them up into little bits.”

She was so angry; she was shaking.

Jaime nodded, understanding her feelings. He, too, wouldn’t mind revenge for what those bastards had done; that experience had scarred them deeply. 

Realizing that focusing on the past would not help them achieve their present goals, Jaime vowed he would do his best not to lose his focus for what they must accomplish. And from the steely look in her eyes, he knew Brienne would do the same.  
“What a fine pair we make, hum, wench?” Jaime stated gruffly.

Brienne tugged him to her and gave him a tight hug. He realized then that he was shaking as much as she was.

Her whisper was harsh in his ear. “We will make them pay. Promise me that, Jaime.”

Pulling back so he could stare into her eyes, he reassured her, “Oh, they will suffer for what they did to us. That is an easy vow to make.” He clasped her hand in his and forced out a smile. “It seems that this little honeymoon of ours could vanquish many old demons as well as complete our oaths.”

“True,” She agreed, and he kissed her temple, pleased that he had a wife who was so strong. He wished he felt as resilient as she did.

Jaime stood and held out his hand. “We should get as much rest as we can before the grand feast. Oh, and stay away from the meat pies.” He added cheekily, his humor returning to break their somber mood.

With a genuine smile as he helped her to her feet, Brienne replied, “Not to worry, husband. You are a much worse cook than me. I saw how many herbs you put in that gravy.”

As they crawled under the covers and clutched one another, he chuckled, “Hopefully they will be too hungry to care.”

Brienne could not look him in the eye, staring at the ceiling instead. “Are we doing the right thing?” She asked after a moment. “There are still innocents here that might get hurt, even killed.” 

She thought of the young boy who had shown them to their room; he was so young. She thought of the women in the kitchens with their frazzled hair and red hands, and of all the other laypeople who served the castle. 

Nodding at her concerns, Jaime was glad they had decided not to use poison. It was such a coward’s tool. But then, killing the guards while they slept was not much better. 

Jaime spoke earnestly in the hope of assuaging her guilt. “We will do our best to spare who we can, but you already know there are no guarantees in war.”

This reminded them that most decisions always came with a price; and sadly, some even came with a heavier toll. Brienne tucked her head under Jaime’s chin, and they continued to clutch each other as their thoughts focused on such difficult choices and of their dreadful times in the Riverlands. But each also remembered that all this would be over soon, and they could finally go home.

*

The feast for the Bolton’s honored guests was a large affair, for many of the troops and knights of the Dreadfort were in attendance. Those still on duty would get the leftovers, which was mostly the dreaded ‘meat pie.’ Besides the overbearing flavor of herbs, there was a lingering bitter aftertaste to them.

Many wondered how the nobility could stomach such harsh seasonings. One guard joked that it explained the pinched expression that most lords always wore. Regardless, they were used to eating whatever was cooked, but never such a bounty of good food as what lay before the at the feast (the meat pie notwithstanding). If the Lord and Lady Lannister wished to stay longer, the soldiers certainly would not mind the company or the upgrade in food. 

After viewing the grimacing faces of the diners, the cook wished she had had time to try the meat pie before she served them. Had she known how inedible it was, she would have thrown it out—but then, they’d barely had enough food to serve so many as it was. And there was the added issue that the Lannisters would have been insulted if she had. She was mad, though, when she saw that the two privileged guests did not even try the pies.

Jaime and Brienne were seated on the upper dais at the head table near Steelshanks. Nearby sat two of Walder Frey's sons. Jaime would recognize their weasely faces and weak chins anywhere, but he had already forgotten their names. He thought they were introduced as Hosteen and Aenys, which sounded like typical Frey names.

Jaime glanced around the large room filled with sellswords and soldiers and was pleased to see most of them were eating the meat pies. The men wore stricken expressions when they first tasted it, but they choked most of it down. It seemed to have become a dare for the diners—those who did not finish the meat pie were openly mocked by those around them.

Further down the dais, Steelshanks regaled the table with the rousing tale of Jaime’s valiant leap into the bear pit to rescue the Maid of Tarth. Jaime did his part by adding a few colorful comments here and there. Brienne gritted her teeth through the tale, but she nodded dutifully at the appropriate moments. 

Steelshanks finished his story to a round of cheers. Leaning over drunkenly, he demanded of Jaime, “Now you must tell us how you defeated the Lord of the Stormlands!”

“It is my lady’s tale,” said Jaime, glancing over at Brienne. She eyed him imploringly, so he cleared his throat and said, “Err, yes, but I was also there.”

Steelshanks pounded his fist against the table until the entire hall had quieted enough for Jaime to tell the story. Speaking loudly, Jaime’s voice echoed throughout the vast chamber. “That red witch of his had placed a spell to knock us out the moment we got near their camp.” 

The audience gasped. 

“We were then brought to them in chains. After some… questioning by Stannis the Pretender, my wife became outraged. Her only weapons were her mighty brow and feet. Even after bludgeoning the witch’s face in with her head, the witch would not die. Having no choice, my wife snapped the witch’s neck with a hard kick, the force so strong that it practically spun the woman’s head around like a child’s top. That finally did her in.”

Men were gazing at Brienne slack-jawed in shock. A few even gulped at the ferocity of her actions. Jaime grinned at the red rising in Brienne’s face. With a shrug, he added, “Between the both of us, we defeated Stannis and escaped before his army could kill us.”

“Did she bite off his ear?” A voice yelled out from the back of the room, and Brienne frowned, perplexed by the comment. 

Embarrassed, Jaime tugged at his ear. “Err, no.”

When Jaime did not elaborate, the diners returned to their own conversations. Here and there, men discussed the finer points of Lord Lannister’s tale, comparing his story to the rumors they’d heard.

At one of the lower tables sat the Brave Companions drinking copious amounts of wine. Timeon the Dornish Spearman had joined Urswyck, Shagwell, and Zollo. Wearing his usual mocking sneer, Urswyck had been scrutinizing Jaime and Brienne during dinner. When Steelshanks was called away by a bellowing liege lord, he nodded to his brethren, and they left the table to approach the dais. 

Spying the group that was headed their way, Jaime’s hand reached for Brienne’s under the table. They eyed the men who had made their lives hell all that time ago.

Urswyck sneered up at them and stopped in front of the table. “What an interesting story you tell, Kingslayer,” he spat drunkenly. “I wonder how true it is.”

“It is,” Brienne spoke in a low, threatening tone, which caused Urswyck and his men to smirk.

Urswyck gestured to his party. “Ah, you remember everyone? We have come to congratulate you on your marriage. A toast to the Beauty and the Beast. Though, honestly, I have no idea which of you is which.”

His friends laughed heartily at his jest but stopped when Jaime showed them a toothy smile. “Actually, we prefer the moniker of ‘Richest in all the land.’”

Shagwell studied them. “You two have hardly had enough to drink for a wedding toast.”

Unlike the duo in front of them, the Brave Companions had begged off food in favor of drink. Always suspicious, they kept a close eye on the guests of honor. When they noticed neither Jaime nor Brienne had touched the meat pie, neither had they. 

This had not gone unawares by Jaime. While he and Brienne had rested earlier, he had racked his brain as to how to deal with the Brave Companions. He wished he had kept some of the sleeping draught for his own use.

The only idea he could think of was slipping some extra coin to the wine steward to make sure that the odious men’s’ cups were always full. With luck, the amount of alcohol they had ingested tonight would hamper these bastards in some way while he and Brienne snuck out to the main gates. 

Jaime barely glanced at Shagwell to answer; his interest laid more in the shine of his metal hand. “My wife is not feeling well, and I am still healing from my wounds.” 

Of course, causing such brutes to become overly-drunk posed its own sort of problems, and Jaime studied the group that swayed before them.

“I must say, you are starting to look good, Beast.” Urswyck slurred up to Brienne. “Sure you don’t want to try out a man with two hands?”

Zollo added to the discussion by stumbling against the table, his horrid breath nearly making Brienne retch. “Yes, I am surprised you would even marry the Stump,” he laughed. “Even you should be able to find a whole man.”

Glaring at them, Brienne ground out, “He is more of a man than any of you will ever be.”

“Still an ugly beast, you are.” Zollo spat, but they continued leering at her. 

Brienne was fighting against her inner rage, and Jaime clenched her hand tighter in his. These men obviously wanted what they could never have.

“You are all fools,” she spat finally.

“Tell me,” said Shagwell, “how is the sapphire business going? Locke was pissed when he heard that was all a lie. It was lucky that you grabbed her when you did, Kingslayer. Though, I still think we should have gotten a go with her before the bear could.”

Brienne suddenly lurched to her feet, knocking her chair loudly to the ground. Her hand clenched at the nonexistent pommel of her sword—long-confiscated by Steelshanks’ men. 

The Brave Companions followed suit, but they did have weapons, which they drew and brandished in front of the table. 

The Lannisters tracked the swords warily, and Jaime once more wished they had stayed armed. 

Suddenly, they heard a bellow from down the dais. “You there, stop!” Steelshanks marched toward them.

The Brave Companions glared over at the large knight. Reluctantly, they sheathed their swords and stepped away from the couple.

“Now, now Beauty,” Urswyck declared to Brienne. “We didn’t mean any harm.” But his insinuation suggested otherwise as he licked his lips, his eyes raking suggestively over her body.

Brienne was barely able to get her rage under control. She could not let it out in fear she would ruin their plans if she acted now.

Arriving at the table with eyes blazing, Steelshanks demanded, “What is going on here?”

“Nothing,” Urswyck replied innocently. “We’re just reminiscing about the good old days.”

Jaime stood up slowly, but just as menacingly as Brienne. The feel of his phantom fingers mirrored his wife’s whole ones as he searched for a blade that was not there. He was seething. It made his voice hard as stone. “Yes, a reminder of how different we were then. And of how much stronger we are now.” 

Steelshanks growled through gritted teeth and spat at Urswyck, “What did I tell you earlier in the hallway. They are family to the Hand. The same man who backs Lord Bolton as the Warden of the North. Your lord.”

The dented bells on Shagwell’s jester cap jingled as he shook his head and grinned. “Locke is our lord. Disappeared up North, but he’ll be back, don’t you worry.”

Shagwell started to cackle, and Urswyck grinned at Brienne and licked his lips. Steelshanks began to say something, but Jaime turned to Brienne and tugged on her arm. “Come, we should retire for the evening.”

The Brave Companions sneered. Shagwell snickered, “Hope you are not leaving because of us.”

“Well,” Jaime said, his teeth forming a threatening smile, “there is a certain… smell about you that is rather off-putting.”

He was glad that the Brave Companions had not eaten the meat pies. Sleeping through their own deaths would be too merciful for these bastards.

*

A few hours later, Jaime determined that those who ate the tainted food should be either unconscious or stuck on the toilet by now. Cautiously, he and Brienne snuck out of their chambers and were relieved to see that the guard on duty at their door appeared to be sound asleep. 

So as not to rouse him, they declined to take the weapon on the soldier’s hip. Besides, it would be suspicious to be carrying a blade around, Jaime thought. They were the honored guests, so there was no need for them to be armed.

After making sure that the corridors were clear of witnesses, they began to retrace their steps. Jaime was positive they were headed in the right direction towards the courtyard where they could make their escape. It was a big fortress, but they could not very well ask directions without raising suspicion.

During the many twist and turns through the corridors, they had to duck into alcoves and chambers to avoid the guards that marched past them on patrol. Unfortunately, one of those chambers they had to hide in was the trophy room; the stench of the flayed skins was horrendous.

The putrid air overpowered Brienne’s senses. What little she had eaten at the feast, she nearly vomited onto her boots.   
Fearing she would add to the smell as well as make a noise, Jaime rested his fake hand over her mouth. Oddly, the familiar scent of metal made her gagging finally stop.

Thankfully, the guards had finished rounding the corner, and they scrambled hastily from the room without detection. 

Brienne gasped and took loud gulps of air that made Jaime worry that the soldiers would overhear and return. He rubbed Brienne’s back for comfort until she recovered, and then they pressed on. 

Noticing the skeletal torch holders on the wall, Jaime grimaced. Though they were a morbid form of a trail, at least he knew they would lead them to the main hall.

With a nod to his wife, they began to follow the bony appendages towards the main chambers. Finally, they neared the front doors. His bones could practically feel the chill of the cold draft as they approached them.

Reaching the exit, they heard the muted jingle of Shagwell’s bells nearing from the other side of the massive doors. As the handle began to turn, they had no choice but to retreat quickly back the way they had come. As quietly as possible, they followed the path of the skeletal arms, trying to find another exit. 

It seemed as if the voices that had haunted their dreams were now echoing around them. Jaime wished he had paid more attention to Steelshanks’ tour. Unsure of the direction the voices were coming from, he tugged Brienne closer, and they hastened faster down the dim hallway. 

From behind, he spied the advancing shadows of men that the flickering torchlight cast on the stone walls before them.   
Jaime quickly led them further down the corridor, passing the trophy room. Then from around the corner in front of them, they heard Urswyck laughing loudly with another man. 

They seemed to be cut off as the Brave Companions now converged on their location. Jaime and Brienne had no choice but to yank open the only available door—a massive thing that opened up onto a dark stairwell. Tugging on her hand, Jaime pulled Brienne down the steps behind him. 

Humid, warm air met them at the bottom of the stairs. Trying not to slip on the damp steps, Jaime squinted in the faint light spilling into the stairwell from the chamber up ahead. It was difficult to see, but he finally recognized where they were.

Reaching the bottom of the stone steps, they took in their surroundings. Torches were tucked into thick stone columns, and the flickering flames illuminated the cavernous, tiled ceiling of the thermal baths. Jaime’s ragged breathing mixed with the eerie sound of the bubbling thermals and the soft drip of water condensation.

He could kick himself for taking them down here. 

Brienne clutched his arm roughly and whispered his name, her eyes scanning the room for another exit. She wouldn’t find one. 

Briefly, Jaime wondered if they had been deliberately corralled into the one enclosed space that did not afford them any possible escape. Not only was this subterranean room isolated from the rest of the Dreadfort, but Steelshanks had promised to keep it vacated for their use tonight. 

From the stairwell above, Jaime heard the sound of booted feet stomping slowly down the slick stone steps.   
The Brave Companions had found them.


	12. Brave Companions

Jaime looked frantically around the vast room of scattered bathing pools, searching for an exit. His gaze caught the thick steam that wafted up from the boiling water churning within the largest thermal pool before them. The hot air swirled up toward the exhaust vent that was at the center of the domed room and disappeared. The vent was just large enough to fit a man, but the slick tiled walls offered no purchase. There were no means of escape that way.

“Damn it! Do you see any exits?” Jaime hissed to his wife.

Brienne shook her head. “No. We have no choice; we must face them.” Though her voice was filled with bravado, Jaime could see the trepidation reflected in her eyes. Her empty hand clenched where Oathkeeper would normally rest upon her hip.

Angrily he bit out, “There must be another way, wench.” He figured there were at least three Brave Companions coming for them.

As the faint staccato of their enemy’s footsteps slowly descended the stairs, Jaime pushed Brienne ahead of him. He was trying to maneuver her back into the shadows, where at least she had a chance to hide. But by the drag of her feet, Jaime realized that Brienne wanted to confront the men coming for them. 

He grasped her hand in his and tugged. “Come on, Brienne. We can hide back here. Please, at least until we know how many we must face.”

Reluctantly, she allowed him to pull her along.

Managing to get them both around the edge of the largest bubbling pool, Jaime grimaced at the scalding air that radiated from it. One slip and they would both be parboiled. 

Nearing the back, where the pools were less intense and used for bathing, Jaime felt Brienne’s hand tightly grip his. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. He knew she was trying to be brave, but the echoing taunts from their pursuers were a reminder that the Brave Companions would be upon them soon.

Seeing his concerned look, Brienne stated defiantly, “I am fine.” Though her voice sounded strong, his ear could make out the slight hint of anxiety in her tone. Neither wanted to imagine what the Brave Companions would do to her if she were caught.

“Quick, hide in this pool.” He tried to steer her into one of the deeper bathing pools that were recessed far in the back.

She dug in her heels. “You first, husband.” Her grip on his hand was like steel.

“No, it is you they want.” There was no way he would let them get her. He used his beguiling smile on her. “I will draw them away with my usual Lannister charm.” 

“Jaime…” Worry was heavy in her tone.

“Now, wench! Do it for the babe and for me.” They had reached the furthest pool. 

Brienne still wouldn’t let go of his hand. And there was no way to pry her fingers free unless he wanted to use his teeth. Her other hand snaked up to his shoulder, her grasp even stronger. “Do not sacrifice yourself, Jaime. We can kill them together.   
And if we fail, then we will take as many of those bastards with us as we can.” 

Instead of arguing further over the futility of the situation, Jaime pulled her in close and kissed her lips hard. He rested his forehead on hers and stared deeply into her eyes. Her blue gaze pleaded with him, and he seemed to deflate beneath the weight of it. “Then wait for my signal before you attack. They will be expecting us, but perhaps we can give them a small surprise.”

Brienne returned his kiss with a fierce one of her own. Her warm fingers trailed his bearded cheek as they parted, and she nodded once.

As he helped her down the steps into the pool, she warned him, “Do not do anything foolhardy, husband.”

He smiled at her fondly. “I thought you liked my reckless behavior.” When she started to turn around to rejoin him, he added, “Yes, yes. I will use the utmost caution. Now stay in the shadows until I call for you.” 

When she reluctantly submerged herself in the hot water, Jaime slipped around the side of the pools, his back flush against the slick, tiled wall. He stopped when he was by the large pool in the front of the room and pressed himself back against the slimy wall, trying to stay hidden. He warily spied the bubbling caldron that seemed to hiss at him in anger. 

Loud stomping and catcalls announced the imminent arrival of the Brave Companions, and Jaime peered through the steam toward the stairwell in apprehension. The heat of the room, as well as the stress of their situation, was making him sweat.

“I know they came down here,” a harsh voice spat out in frustration.

It did not take long for the party to traipse down the steps and into the hot, steamy chamber.

“Oh, Kingslayers,” Shagwell sang, “won’t you come out to play?” 

Urswyck followed close behind, gazing about the warm, damp room. “I do believe the lovebirds planned on a soak. Why don’t we join them?” 

Shagwell giggled, and the hair on Jaime’s neck stood on end. More footsteps sounded on the stairs as four more men joined Urswyck and Shagwell. 

Six men total. 

Jaime thought they had a shot against a smaller number of armed opponents, but not this many. His mind raced. Brienne was still hidden; she would be unaware of how many they were up against. 

They were trapped, unarmed and outnumbered.

“No need to hide, Kingslayer. We saw you and your whore retreat down here.” Urswyck said as he led his team further into the large subterranean room. Zollo and Shagwell were behind him, glancing around the dank alcoves in the chamber. “And I brought more old friends. Guess who has just gotten off their shift in time to enjoy the reunion? You remember Utt, Pyg and Three Toes, don’t you?”

Jaime did not need any reintroductions. He remembered Utt, the religious pedophile, and lieutenant to Locke. Behind him was Pyg, who never made a sound. And lastly, there was Three Toes, another brute of a man who carried a large ax. 

His tone upbeat, Urswyck continued, “And Timeon is upstairs making sure we will not be disturbed. He was a bit upset to be left out of the fun until I reminded him that your bitch is a big woman and there will surely be enough of her to go around.”

Shagwell cackled once more, and Jaime ground his teeth. 

The six men gathered at the front of the room. As Urswyck surveyed the empty chambers, he sneered, “I never figured you both for cowardice. But then, what does one expect from a pair of kingslayers?” 

Urswyck turned to his men and hissed, “They are hiding. Find them.”

When the men grabbed the torches from the wall sconces, Jaime knew he had to act now. If anything, he hoped to buy his wife some extra time. 

After a robust exhale of resolve, Jaime strode from the shadows to stand in the middle of the room, right in front of the largest pool. He wanted to make sure that the Brave Companions would focus on him and abandon their search for Brienne. Despite the lack of a real weapon, he hoped he presented a dramatic figure before them. 

A grin blossomed on Urswyck’s face when he saw him. “There you are, Lannister,” he said smugly. “So glad you were accommodating enough to enter this isolated place on your own. It saved us from having to break down the door to your chambers.” 

The man’s cocky words confirmed to Jaime that they had been purposely maneuvered down here. Warily, Jaime watched as the six menaced towards him. One way or another, they would have to finish this fight.

Urswyck and his men circled closer. “Now where is that beast of yours?” 

Jaime opened his arms wide and gestured at the seemingly empty room. “I am afraid this was a solo venture to the thermals for me. The wife is still not feeling well.”

Urswyck narrowed his beady eyes. “Really? So we didn’t just see you both trying to sneak outside of the fort?” He motioned to his men. “He lies. Go on, spread out. She’s in here. Zollo and I can easily take care of this one.” He and the fat Dothraki penned Jaime between them, their hands resting on their pummels as if daring Jaime to try something.

It was obvious that, once again, Jaime was viewed as a non-threat. What he wouldn’t give to have his sword hand back to remind these bastards what he could really do.

Pyg and Three Toes began searching the smaller pools to the right of the large thermal, while Shagwell and Utt headed to the left. Each carefully checked the water as they slowly walked past the pools. The flames from their torches brightened their paths and helped them to see better. 

Jaime felt desperate as he watched them fan out. It would not take them long to find Brienne.

Urswyck ignored his men and studied Jaime. “Decided to leave the Dreadfort, Kingslayer? Hope it wasn’t because of us. Or was there something else you two planned on doing?”

Jaime tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Honestly, I just came down here to relax in the warm waters. It has been a long trek from the Great Wall.” Hit by inspiration; Jaime bluffed, “And Steelshanks promised to join me.” 

Urswyck snorted in mirth. “Whatever you gave the guards worked well, Kingslayer. He and the others are not feeling well.” He made a pouty face, which caused Zollo to laugh with gusto.

“You do not care about them?” Jaime wasn’t all that surprised that they held no allegiances but to one another.

“Nope,” the Brave Companion leader shrugged. “And after we’re done having our fun with you two, we will see where the winds take us.” 

Jaime tilted his head as he studied the man. “Must be hard not having a cause. Or a patron.”

Urswyck’s blasé attitude changed in an instant. Now hostile, he spat, “Think you can buy us off, Lannister? It won’t work. We do our best when we’re on our own. And rich fucks such as you will always be our enemy. And our boon, such as your ugly wife. She’s not much to look at, but we aren’t too choosy.”

Adamant, Jaime reiterated, “And I tell you that she is not here.” 

He watched as the others maneuvered further in the back, stalking along the walkway between the pools, venturing deeper into the shadows. Soon, their silhouetted forms were difficult to make out in the dancing torchlight.

“You always have an answer for everything, don’t you?” Urswyck said. His eyes flicked down to stare at Jaime’s metal hand, and he sneered, “Hasn’t your mouth cost you enough already, Kingslayer?”

Jaime couldn’t stop the involuntary shudder. Urswyck chuckled.

“Maybe he needs a silver tongue to go with his golden hand?” Shagwell tittered out from the back of the room.

Zollo and the others laughed at the jester’s jape.

Jaime supposed the fool thought he could draw Brienne out with such taunts. He hoped she would stay hidden long enough for them to tire and go.

Urswyck smiled, “Yes, how would you like one of those, Kingslayer?”

“Actually, I have enough silver.” Jaime rubbed his graying beard thoughtfully, his gaze still lingering on the men converging on Brienne’s location. “But I do have plenty of gold to reward someone quite well... Are you sure we cannot make a deal?”

“I am afraid your family riches will not save you, this time, Lannister.” Jaime was caught off guard when Urswyck suddenly got in his face. “Where is she?! Tell me, now!” 

His expression defiant, Jaime still would not give in. So Urswyck nodded to Zollo, who pulled his large curved sword free with a distinct ringing sound. As he raised his arakh threateningly, Zollo growled, “Remember this beauty, Kingslayer? It’s the same one Locke used to chop off your hand.” 

Trapped between the two men, Jaime paled at the memory and licked his lips in trepidation.

*

Brienne was shaking. Even being mostly submerged in the warm water, she still could not stop shaking. Every time one of those bastards made some coarse or rude declaration of what they would do to her or Jaime, she flinched. 

She hated herself for reacting this way, but on some primal level, she could not forget what they had almost done to her and how scared she had been to feel so powerless.

For now, only part of her head poked up from the water. She wanted to submerge herself fully, her fear was so great at being discovered, but she needed to be able to hear her husband’s signal. And it had to happen soon; the Brave Companions had already checked most of the baths and would find her at any moment. She cursed their luck—there were too many of them for her to take on at once, especially unarmed.

Brienne slipped under the silky, wet surface just as one of Urswyck’s men waved a torch over her pool. Luckily, the pool was deep and the water murky. She sunk as far into the shadows as she could to stay undetected.

The torchlight flickered through the water. It appeared as if three of the men were now above her, arguing with one another, but the water muffled their words. Brienne almost panicked when the torch was waved closer to her location. 

The Brave Companions stayed there for a while, and she feared she would have to rise soon or she would drown. Fighting back the instinctive urge to take a breath, Brienne forced herself to calm down. Panicking was not going to help her, she reasoned. Thankfully, she had been raised on an island and was an excellent swimmer; she had learned to hold her breath for longer than most. 

Finally, the men retreated from the edge of the pool, their torch disappearing from sight. 

Lungs near to bursting, Brienne slowly came up for air. She ordered herself not to take deep gasps, or they might hear her. 

They were moving away, their backs to her as they retraced their steps. She knew they would come back again; they would never give up so easily. She glanced at the front of the room. Jaime had yet to signal an attack. She should have known he would try to act noble and take them on himself. 

And upon hearing the frustration in Urswyck’s voice, she feared the repugnant man would take his wrath out on her husband for it. And soon.

“Where is she?!” She heard Urswyck bellow at Jaime. “Tell me, now!” 

Brienne risked rising higher up in the pool. From this vantage point, she saw that several of the Brave Companions were waving torches over the pools in the middle. Past them, she could just make out the figures of Jaime, Zollo, and Urswyck standing at the front of the chamber. Zollo raised his blade in a menacing manner at her husband, but still, Jaime refused to talk. Urswyck moved forward and pushed Jaime towards the large, dangerous boiling pool of water.

Anger overwhelmed Brienne when she realized they were going to hurt Jaime to draw her out. Long ago, she had failed in her pledge to keep him safe, and he had lost his hand as a result. It would not happen again. Not this time. 

She felt rage slowly overwhelm her fear, and she allowed it to buoy her determination. Patiently, she waited for the Brave Companions to work their way back to her location. Her grin was feral when she saw they had split up so they could take their time rechecking the pools. Once more using the shadows to her advantage, she submerged herself as Utt approached her hiding spot.

*

Frustrated by the amount of time it was taking to find Brienne, Urswyck shoved Jaime, nearly pushing him into the boiling thermal pool. “One thing about her I do remember is that she’s loyal to you. Now tell her to come out.”

Jaime sullenly refused, and Urswyck’s gaze became calculating. 

“We will kill him,” he yelled, his stern voice echoing throughout the tiled chamber. “We will start by chopping off his other hand. Or maybe it is his tongue that does it for you, Beauty? It is made of silver after all, or it soon will be.”

When Brienne still refused to reveal herself, Urswyck’s mocking words continued, “Though by the look of you, Beauty, I doubt it takes much to get you to open your legs. To be so desperate that you would even accept the Kingslayer inside you. How could deny us entry, too?” 

He nodded his head at Zollo, who tightened his grip on the handle of his arakh. 

Urswyck called out again in that insulting tone of his, “So what will it be first, my lady. His tongue… his hand? Or his much smaller hand?” 

Jaime warily eyed the weapon in Zollo’s hands. 

Zollo recognized Jaime’s pinched expression as he stared at his arakh. The Dothraki’s smirk grew. “Kingslayer, I am going to enjoy carving you into little pieces.”

Jaime swallowed when the curved blade lowered towards his torso. “I tell you, she is not here,” he asserted.

Urswyck shrugged. “Then it is too bad for you.” 

Zollo grinned as he pulled back his arm, ready to slash open Jaime’s lower extremities.

“Release him!” Brienne’s strong voice echoed from the back of the chambers.

Jaime clenched his eyes shut. Opening them, he peered into the shadows where Brienne had been hiding. 

Shagwell and the others tossed their torches onto the floor close to where Brienne was concealed, projecting their distorted shadows upon the tiled walls.

Brienne came out from the muted darkness as Jaime feared she would. But she did not come out unprepared. Her large frame was hunched over Utt, dwarfing him. Her strong arms wrapped around the slender man, and the gesture would have been considered intimate, if not for the confiscated dagger that she held tight against the pedophile’s throat. Her drenched clothes dripped with water, and her body steamed from the warm pool. She had somehow ambushed the smaller man and had taken the Brave Companion prisoner.

Slowly, Brienne began to march her captive around the pools, using Utt as a shield against the other Brave Companions, who now cautiously backed up. It was obvious that she was maneuvering them closer towards her husband. 

Jaime recognized the fire in her angry gaze—she wanted revenge now.

*

It had not been hard for Brienne to trick her captive closer to her bathing pool. She had made a slight noise, and as he peered into the pool, she reached up out of the murky water, grabbed the front of his tunic with one hand and covered his mouth with the other, and then she pulled him in. Disarming him had even been simpler. The man obviously had never been in single combat before. But Brienne had, and she easily overpowered him.

She really did not have much of a plan, but now she had a weapon, and to her, that evened the odds rather well. She just had to get her husband away from the others.

Brienne indicated her hostage with a slight nod of her head to the others that were trying to crowd closer to her. Luckily the walkway was not large enough for more than one to approach her from either side. “Keep back. I know you care about him. Everyone hates you, so that means you only have each other to rely on. Your own twisted family of Bloody Mummers.”

Outraged, Urswyck bellowed, “How dare you, you bitch!”

The three men stopped their advance when they saw blood trickling from Utt’s throat as the dagger bit deeper. They glanced over at Urswyck, unsure of what to do, hands clutching their weapons ineffectually. 

Brienne could not help the disdain that tainted her voice as she tried to quell the fury she felt. “Last time I was bound, without a weapon. Try your threats now, you pathetic excuses for men! Show me you aren’t just scared little boys.” She had stopped right across the bubbling pool from Jaime’s position. 

Utt meekly struggled in her grasp, “You are going to pay for this, whore. First, they’ll use your body, and then they’ll fuck you with weapons until you die!” 

She shook him hard enough to shut him up. “The only thing you are going to do is behave.”

Her prisoner’s defiance seemed to awaken lust in the others. Brienne ignored the taunting jeers and smooching noises that they sent her way. Her gaze never left her husband’s concerned eyes. 

“Release him,” she demanded. She nodded at Jaime and hoped he understood the look she gave him. 

*

Jaime was amazed at the inner strength of his wife. Brienne had overcome her trepidation and was silently asking him to trust her, as she had so many times before. With a slight bob of her head to him, Brienne indicated that she was ready whenever he was. His answer was his usual cocky grin.

“Now, why are you still fully clothed?” Zollo called out to her as he eyed her suggestively, licking his lips in anticipation.

“Waiting for you, fat man,” Brienne’s low growl echoed across the pool to him. “Come and get me if you dare.” 

“Well, I must say, you clean up rather well, Beauty... Once you’ve had a bath.” Urswyck laughed, ogling how her wet clothes clung suggestively to her form.

She called loudly to him in response, “And I said release my husband, or I will slit this deviant’s throat!”

“Now, now, Beauty, no need for that.” Urswyck backed away from Jaime, hands slightly raised. With a slight shove, he pushed Jaime towards the exit. “You can go, but not her. We have unfinished business with Beauty.” 

Shagwell tittered, “He should be forced to watch.”

“And then it could be his turn—“ Agreed Zollo, his gaze never leaving Jaime’s.

Jaime shook his head; he would never leave Brienne alone with these brutes. 

Calmly, Urswyck bargained, “Your man is free, Beauty, now why don’t you drop that weapon.”

“Why don’t you come and take it.” She challenged back. When she tightened her grip on the handle, more blood seeped from Utt’s neck wound, and he whimpered in pain. 

With an assured air, Urswyck laughed, “Don’t worry boys; she wouldn’t dare kill Utt. If she does, she will be at our mercy.” 

Addressing the three that surrounded her, Urswyck said, “Whoever disarms her first, will get to have her after me.”

Chuckling, Three Toes was the first to approach Brienne. Shagwell came up on the other side of her to cut off any retreat, with Pyg pressed close behind him. The men brandished their weapons menacingly at her. 

Jaime frowned as the three men closed in on either side of Brienne. She still had not released Utt, but they did not seem to care. “Stop, or I will kill him,” Brienne warned, the dagger once more biting into the man’s neck.

From behind Jaime, Zollo laughed. “Actually, we only keep Utt around to amuse us.” 

“Yes, and Beauty you will soon take his place as our entertainment,” Shagwell tittered. “Go ahead and kill him if you please.”

An indignant Utt hissed, “My brothers, how could you?”

Shagwell cocked his head to the side. “Your pious antics and your hypocrisy for sleeping with children were getting old, priest. As is our tolerance for you.”

While they bickered, Jaime suddenly grinned. A plan had begun to form in his mind, and he just needed the right moment to act.

Urswyck frowned at Jaime. “Why are you smiling?” His corpselike visage broke into a sickly leer. “You’d enjoy watching your wife being raped, wouldn’t you? You haven’t changed your ways at all, Kingslayer.” 

Licking his lips, Urswyck nodded to Zollo. “Watch him and then it can be your turn with the whore.” He called out to the others, “Wait for me boys; I get the first crack at her.”

Without waiting for a response, Urswyck began to jog around the large pool towards Brienne, who was now cornered by three of the Brave Companions. Jaime looked at her and their eyes locked. He made sure she registered his quick nod that it was time to act. She quirked a toothy grin in reply. She was ready whenever he was.

Making sure that his voice carried to the Brave Companions across the room, Jaime pointed at the scalding, bubbling water in front of him and exclaimed, “Well, will you look at that!” 

Too intent on trapping Brienne, the Brave Companions ignored him. Squatting down, Jaime gazed intently at the few shallow rocks that were just visible under the rolling, boiling water. 

Using his metal hand, he indicated something just below the surface. “Why that looks like gold down there,” he called out loudly.

The men paused in their advance on Brienne, glancing over in confusion. Unable to help himself, Urswyck spun around and began to head back to Jaime’s side. 

Zollo stood over Jaime’s shoulder as he asked greedily, “Gold?”

“Yes, it must have come up through the vents from the underground thermals.” Jaime waved his metal hand just above the scorching water to dissipate the steam. If his appendage had been real, it would have been burned.

Intrigued, Zollo tilted forward next to Jaime, his face hovering over the surface of the churning water. Suddenly, Jaime swatted the blistering water with his fake hand into the fat man’s eyes, blinding him. 

Zollo shouted in agony as the water burned him. “You bastard,” he raged, “I’ll kill you!”

The Lord lion leaned back as the screaming, sightless man stumbled after him. Jaime ducked, and the flailing man tripped over his hunched form. With a loud cry, Zollo plunged into the boiling pool of water. Jaime gave a silent cheer as a shocked Zollo mutely thrashed about, struggling to keep his head above the rolling surface. 

Jaime’s pleasure was short-lived, however, and he yelped as the flesh around his metal wrist now burned. Wincing, he tried to pull the cuff off, but the steel hand was still hot to the touch. Waving it through the air to cool it, he glanced up as the stunned silence was suddenly broken by Zollo’s shrieks of pain.

Then, all hell broke loose. 

Utt slammed his head back hard, ramming Brienne’s face. “You’re going to pay, you bitch!” Though the surprise hit loosened her hold on him, it did not stop her from slashing the blade deep across Utt’s throat. Ignoring the blood streaming from her nose, Brienne bellowed as the slender man collapsed at her feet.

On the other side of the pool, Jaime heard Brienne’s enraged scream as she dumped the dying man into the boiling water. She then spun and kicked Shagwell back before he could hit her with his flail. 

As she pivoted to engage Three Toes and his large ax with only Utt’s dagger for defense, Urswyck attacked Jaime with his sword. Without a weapon, Jaime had no choice but to block the blade with his metal hand. After he had batted the sword to the side, Jaime slapped Urswyck across the mouth with his metallic hand. There was a satisfying sound of crunching bone as Jaime busted the man’s nose and knocked a few teeth out. Urswyck groaned and crumpled to the floor. 

Jaime turned. While Brienne waited for Three Toes attack, Zollo’s whimpers of agony drew Shagwell’s attention. He seemed torn between wanting to help his friend, who was slowly being parboiled or join the fun in catching Brienne.

Brienne dodged Three Toe’s low ax swing and yelled over her shoulder at the hesitant Shagwell. “Don’t leave me yet, funny man, you’re next.” Brienne’s harsh tone was so threatening, the jester paled.

Shaking free his fear, Shagwell turned to his companion, “Pyg, go help Urswyck! I’ll help Three Toes with the big bitch!” 

Pyg’s reply was a barbaric grunting noise, and he did as he was ordered. 

Sneering, Brienne waited for her two assailants; her dagger clenched tightly in her fist. She snarled at Three Toes, “Come on, you bastard!”

Grinning at the challenge, Three Toes swung his ax at her head. She ducked below the sharp weapon, surprise evident on her face. 

Shagwell tittered, so close that his foul breath ruffled the back of her hair. “You do not have to be alive for us to have fun with you, Beauty.” 

As Shagwell swung his flail at her, Brienne twisted around and kicked the fool into the nearby cooling pool filled with freezing river water. She cursed herself for being so easily distracted by Three Toes. Catching movement in her periphery, Brienne sprang back just in time as Three Toes swung his ax again. 

Brienne was momentarily distracted when she saw Pyg racing towards the unarmed Jaime. Her husband was trapped between the blistering thermal pool and Urswyck, who was struggling to his feet. As Jaime slowly backpedaled, Brienne turned and gauged the man who was stalking closer to her, his ax raised once more.

When Three Toes began to swing his ax downwards at Brienne, she smirked. If he thought she would repeat her last defensive move, he was vastly mistaken. Besides, she knew Shagwell was waiting to ambush her with that flail of his if she tried.

As the ax came crashing down, Brienne waited until the last moment to act. Instead of jumping back, she spun to the side and ended up next to the large man. Slamming her left forearm hard into his back, Three Toes bent over with a grunt. As he bowed, she followed through by punching her dagger into the exposed area at the back of his neck. 

Gurgling from the killing blow, he dropped the ax. As it clattered to the ground, Brienne kicked his crumpling form into the boiling water. She turned, and her stormy blue eyes glared menacingly at a shocked Shagwell. 

*

Across the simmering pool, Jaime barely registered the sound of a third body hitting the bubbling water; his gaze never wavered from the threats that surrounded him. Behind him, he heard Zollo weakly struggling to keep his head above blistering water. Pyg slowed his approach and grunted amused at the easy prey before him. Though Urswyck was still dazed, Jaime could not get safely around him.

Glancing at the dying man and the two bodies floating in the thermal pool, Jaime had a sudden, drastic idea. 

When Pyg swung his weapon at him, Jaime launched himself from the lip of the pool, aiming for the closest object in the boiling water. He could not help the grimace that crossed his features when his right foot landed on Zollo’s head. The man sputtered in pain and lashed out at Jaime, wildly trying to grab him.

Before Jaime lost his footing, he leaped to the next body. He grinned when his shifting weight pushed Zollo all the way under the boiling water. This time, he did not come back up. 

Utt’s floating body provided a perfect second step. As his remains began to submerge, Jaime was already bounding to the last corpse, Three Toes. 

Jaime foolishly grinned, thinking his bold plan to reach his wife would actually work.

And it would have succeeded, too, if the larger man hadn’t suddenly sunk under the surface when Jaime landed on him.   
Jaime stumbled, and despite the thick leather of his boots, the boiling water seared his foot. Desperate, he jumped, hoping he could make the distance to safety on the other side. One of his feet succeeded in landing on the stone lip, but without the other for balance, he found himself falling backward.

Frantically he pinwheeled his arms and gasped loudly in panic. Suddenly, Brienne was there, reaching out and grabbing the front of his tunic in one fist while still brandishing her dagger with the other. She tugged him onto solid ground, her hand still bunching the fabric tight as if she feared she might lose him if she let go. Jaime opened his mouth to thank her, but Shagwell was bearing down on them both. 

“Brienne!” He yelled as Shagwell knocked the dagger from her hand with a hard swing from his flail. 

Brienne barely flinched at the hit. Her brow was furrowed, and Jaime saw that her eyes were a storm of rage. Fearing that she had succumbed to the bloodlust of battle, Jaime quickly reassured her, “I am on your side, wench.”

The barbaric grin she aimed his way was fearsome.

Before he could remind her that he was her husband, he spotted Shagwell moving close to strike again. Jaime went to warn Brienne, but she already had the man in her sights, her head pivoting slowly to face him. Shagwell tittered nervously and bounced from foot to foot, gathering the courage to attack her again.

The jester raised his weapon once more, but before he could strike, an enraged Brienne yanked Jaime away from the edge and rammed his body into Shagwell with a resounding crash. 

Both men were dazed from the hard impact, and the jester reeled backward. 

Brienne released Jaime, who dropped onto the stone floor. He watched stunned as she plucked her discarded dagger from the ground and advanced on Shagwell. Not waiting for the man to recover from the last blow, she stood over his stooped form.

The jester tried to giggle, but only managed to wheeze. “I will kill you and rape your skull!”

Brienne’s tone was low and furious, but her words rang clear. “And you will pay for tormenting my husband and me.”

With a warble for a war cry, Shagwell swung his blunt weapon at her head. Before it could connect, Brienne captured his wrist in her hand and clamped it tight. With a sick grin of her own, she squeezed until his wrist bones snapped. 

Shrieking, the wounded man dropped his flail with a clunk. Before he could pull away, Brienne impaled him with her dagger and rode his crumpling form to the ground. 

Caught up in her rage, she continued to stab him, commanding, “Laugh. Laugh. Laugh!”

When most of her anger had dissipated, Brienne stood and stared at the corpse at her feet. His dirty jester’s cap askew, Shagwell’s shocked expression was frozen in place. Brienne unceremoniously kicked his body into the boiling water and watched it sink. She wiped spatters of blood from her face and turned to find Jaime staring in awe at her.

“You are a force to be reckoned with, wife.” 

Brienne grabbed Three Toes’ ax and motioned Jaime closer. There were still two Brave Companions left, and Brienne was not finished. With a grimace, Jaime hefted Shagwell’s flail with his one hand. When Brienne moved to face their enemies, Jaime did the same. Together they would end this. 

Pyg was about to race towards Jaime but stopped when he saw they were armed. He grunted at Urswyck and indicated for him to get involved. Obviously, in pain, Urswyck nodded and staggered around the other side of the pool, blood gushing from his broken nose.

Warily, Urswyck approached Brienne and was about to engage her, when he heard someone enter at the top of the landing. 

The Brave Companions lookout, Timeon, trotted down the steps, spear out. His red-sashed helmet bobbed up and down to match his descent. “What are you doing down here, having an orgy? You guys are too noisy; I can hear you all the way up there.” His steps faltered when he saw what was going on before him. 

Good naturedly, Jaime called, “Why don’t you join us? I know my wife is just dying to see you again.”

Enraged, Pyg signaled to Timeon that he would take Jaime. Timeon frowned and joined Urswyck in confronting Brienne. 

“Next time, we should knock them out, so they do not make so much noise.” Jaime quipped over his shoulder to her, hoping to gauge how Brienne was holding up.

“They do not deserve it,” she snarled, scowling at the two that menaced towards her. “Being boiled alive is too good for them.” 

Jaime grinned. There was his spirited wench. Despite being up against three more men, Jaime would have to say they were handling their demons from the past surprisingly well. At least they had weapons now. 

Jaime and Brienne readied themselves, each one guarding the others back. 

A sneering Urswyck swung at Brienne with his blade. As she blocked it, Timeon used the longer reach of his throwing spear to attack her side. She barely knocked his spear point away with the ax handle before it could score out an eye.

“You will both pay for this!” Urswyck yelled. 

“I swear if I had a gold crown for all the times I heard that,” said Jaime jokingly, watching Pyg advance on him, “my family would no longer be broke!”

Brienne’s chuckle sounded forced as she swept Urswyck’s next swing away with her ax and shoved him violently back into a stone column. Timeon came up and thrust his weapon at her again, but this time, she kicked his spear aside. As the Dornish man spun around to follow through with another strike, Brienne ducked to the side. His momentum too strong, Timeon lost his balance and nearly fell into the boiling water.

Jaime looked away from their fight in time to see Pyg snarl and charge at him. He raised his flail and met the Brave Companion’s blow. Instead of success, he watched in surprise as his weapon was knocked from his hand by the force of Pyg’s strike. A gleeful Pyg snorted at Jaime and attacked once more. Without a weapon, Jaime instinctively raised his metal hand in defense and Pyg’s sword found itself jammed into Jaime’s prosthetic. 

Jaime grunted and held onto his metal wrist while Pyg tried to yank his blade free. As they struggled, Brienne spun around to face them. She leaned over her husband’s shoulder and slashed across Pyg’s belly with her ax before pivoting to block Urswyck’s next swing.

Pyg glanced up at Jaime in amazement as his guts spilled from his body. In shock, he let go of his imprisoned weapon and tried to scoop his intestines back into his belly. 

With a nod of satisfaction, Jaime nudged the surprised man into the steaming water. 

Jaime held his metal hand down with his foot and pried Pyg’s sword free. 

Triumphant, he spun and stood behind Brienne. With Pyg’s blade firmly in his hand, he merrily said to Brienne, “Save some killing for me, wench.” 

“That can be arranged, my lord,” she growled dangerously low. Jaime could almost hear her grin of pleasure. 

The two last standing Brave Companion stared at them, horrified. Timeon whispered aghast, “You two are insane.”

Jaime roared at him, and in fear, Timeon threw his spear at them. They ducked just in time, and Timeon tripped away. 

Urswyck barred his teeth at the Lannisters but backed up further. He side-eyed Timeon, who scurried towards the stairs.

Frowning, Jaime said to Brienne, “He’ll warn the others.” 

Brienne nodded and deftly gauged the weight of Three Toe’s ax. Suddenly, she hurled it, two-handed, at the retreating man.   
Timeon let out a guttural cry as the weapon slammed into his back.

Jaime laughed when Urswyck stared at them in shock. The frightened leader of the once Brave Companions stumbled away and raced towards the exit. Jaime and Brienne quickly gave chase. For once, the Lions were hunting the prey, and it felt good, their bared teeth gleaming in the flickering torchlight.

They were both almost upon him when a deep rumbling from below the surface of the chamber suddenly shook the room, and the Lannisters were knocked to their knees by the sharp jolts.

Urswyck barely kept his feet under him. He scrabbled across the undulating tiles and staggered up the stairs, disappearing into the dark.

Jaime helped Brienne to her feet. The worst of the tremors seemed to be coming from deep under the largest thermal pool. It was making a violent gurgling sound as if it were readying itself for a great belch. Alas, it seemed that the pressure could not get past the sunken bodies that blocked the vent. 

About to say a quip, Jaime stopped when he heard Urswyck bellowing out for help further up the stairwell. He sounded like a carnival barker as he ordered guards to his side.

“The soldiers should all be asleep,” said Brienne, sounding hopeful. 

Jaime shook his head. “Alas, wench, I am sure there are a few that steered clear of such fine cuisine as those meat pies.” 

When Jaime went to give Brienne Pyg’s sword, he saw that her hands were shaking with adrenaline. 

She rubbed her face, and Jaime frowned at her in concern. “We are nearly done killing our demons, Brienne.”

Her head bobbed, but he could tell that something was wrong as she grabbed the offered weapon. Before Jaime could inquire, a troop of guards rushed down the steps to crowd in front of the sputtering thermal pool. Urswyck was the last to enter and he stayed safely behind them.

Jaime took a deep breath, counting at least ten, and clenched Shagwell’s flail tight in his left hand. His grip lessened when Steelshanks, pale and sweating, pushed his way to the front of the group. Even Brienne’s readied stance relaxed a bit.

They were pleased to see him until they caught the murderous glare in the old knight’s eyes.


	13. The Aftermath

Jaime and Brienne stood side by side; weapons raised and at the ready. Worriedly, they glanced from the caldron of boiling water by their feet to the soldiers who stood on the other side of the immense, angry thermal pool.

The rumbling from the clogged thermal vent had subsided for the moment. But every now and then, a large expanse of air would force its way upwards, past the sunken corpses, and bubble to the surface violently.

Though they were armed, Jaime did not feel very confident when observing the scowling group of Dreadfort guards that crowded behind their equally-furious leader, Steelshanks. Urswyck stood next to Lord Bolton’s second-in-command, his expression triumphant.

Steelshanks gaze never left Jaime or Brienne’s exhausted forms. He growled to the insolent man beside him, “You say they are the reason my men are sick?”

Sneering, the corpse-like man crowed, “Oh yes, they did something to the food.”

Jaime protested their innocence. “Surely you do not believe the man who has it out for us?” 

“Yes, it is just a coincidence that everyone got sick after you two arrived,” Urswyck spat.

Jaime smiled beseechingly, trying to salvage the situation. “Maybe it is only food poisoning. The meal was rather rich.”

Steelshanks hissed, “Quiet, Kingslayer. Your quips do not explain why my men lay dying, writhing on the ground in agony.”  
Jaime could see the resentment in the man’s eyes. “And you two did have access to the kitchens.” 

One could practically hear the curse under Steelshanks’ breath, for it was he who had led Jaime and Brienne through that part of the castle. 

Brienne’s voice was hesitant, as if hopeful that she had misunderstood Steelshanks’ words. “Your men are dying?”

Steelshanks nodded at her. “Aye, my lady, and the smallfolk, too.”

Brienne whispered, horrified, “Even the children?” 

“Any who ate that vile food is.” 

Brienne cast her eyes down in guilt.

Indeed, the old knight before them did not look so good; Steelshanks was pale and sweating, and he seemed to grimace now and then, as if wracked with painful spasms. But this was not the effect of Jaime’s sleeping draught; this was something more insidious. 

“That son of a bitch!” Jaime cursed, and Brienne looked up sharply in awareness. “I knew those Northern bastards could not be trusted.”

Steelshanks snarled a curse, and Brienne tried to rebut their onus. “I swear we thought we were giving you a sleeping draught, not poison,” she implored, teary-eyed.

The old knight scowled at them. “So you admit to having betrayed us to the North.” Brienne opened her mouth to respond, but Steelshanks reproached them. “So whatever your plans entailed, you were just going to let us live? I doubt that. What are your true motives, king slayers? The truth.” Neither would answer him, so he growled, “And after I saved you two from the bear pit at Harrenhal.”

An indignant Jaime reminded him, “Now, now Steelshanks. We are honest that our intention was not to poison any of you. Lord Wull of the Northern Clans went against his promise to Lady Stark. As for the bear pit, you had to deliver me to King’s Landing alive by order of your master.”

“Then it is a good thing that order no longer stands.” 

The sound of steel rang out as Steelshanks unsheathed his sword, his men following suit. “Regardless of who did what, you betrayed this House. I guess this means the Hand has declared war on my sovereign as well?” 

He read their hesitant expressions. “Well, even if you did this on your own, it matters not. Your lives are now forfeit. Since you have taken a stand against the Flayed Man, I will seek justice for my lord. In the name of Lord Bolton, I sentence you both to death.”

Steelshanks motioned for half of his men to go around the right side to face Brienne, while he led the remaining guards along the opposite route to attack Jaime. 

Urswyck stayed where he was. While the soldiers charged at the Lannisters, he scooped up Zollo’s discarded arakh and bided his time.

Having no choice but to defend themselves, Brienne and Jaime fought those attacking them, back-to-back. The walkway between the thermals was narrow, and the guards could only fight them one at a time. 

It helped that the guards were sickened from the poison, but even with that good fortune, the Lannisters were already tiring. Soon, Brienne was panting between strikes and Jaime’s right wrist throbbed painfully after every blow he deflected with it.

It was not long before one of the guards got past Brienne’s defenses. His blade sliced her right forearm, and she nearly dropped her sword. Gritting her teeth, she stabbed the guard, and he tumbled into the bubbling thermal at her right.

Taking advantage of her injury, Urswyck charged. “You will pay for killing my family, Beast,” he snarled at her, and with all his strength, struck downwards with his curved arakh.

Brienne almost fell into the boiling water when her sword collided with his. Her guttural yell of anger seemed to echo the deep rumbling growl that came from the clogged thermal beside her.

Urswyck grinned in triumph; her sluggish deflection only seemed to give him more strength. Once more he struck, knocking her closer towards the blistering water. 

With Brienne overwhelmed, Steelshanks attacked Jaime’s weaker side. Jaime barely defended the downward swing of Steelshanks sword, catching the blade in his metal hand just in time. 

Jaime hissed in pain from the blow against his already damaged wrist. He parried the next strike with his sword, but he did not know how much longer he could keep this up. A few steps away, Brienne’s huffs and grunts sounded like she was also not faring well either. 

Things were looking dire for them when suddenly the ground rolled violently, nearly knocking everyone off their feet. All stopped their fighting and watched in horror as the stone beneath them began to fracture, and a large fissure opened up before them. As the quaking strengthened, hairline cracks crawled up the side of the support columns nearest them, and bits of paint and stone flaked off.

With the thermal vent clogged with bodies, the buildup followed the path of least resistance. Boiling water pushed its way to the surface, and the fissure widened as it belched up blistering steam. Those nearest could not keep their balance as the floor continued to buckle upwards from the rising pressure. 

Losing her footing, Brienne fell backward into her husband, and they tumbled into the icy cool-down pool behind them. Shocked, they watched as the room fiercely shook and the water churned and splashed around them. 

More cracks darted out from the expanding fissure and Urswyck leaped back just in time. The soldier next to him was not as quick, and he screamed as the ground gave out beneath him. 

Having no choice but to retreat, Urswyck glowered and backed up towards the only exit. To his left, a lukewarm bathing pool exploded in a burst of steam. Urswyck’s base urges took over then, and he turned to flee up the stairs. He shot one last, furious glare at the Lannisters, and then he was gone.

Jaime and Brienne bobbed in the cool water of their pool as it sloshed around them, watching as the deformed floor continued to jut upwards. The main column in the center of the room suddenly splintered up the middle and began to crumble apart.

The ground shook even harder and more blistering water seeped from the rift in the floor. The smell of rotten eggs assailed their senses as scalding water flowed out of the crack. 

With the sound like a moving thunderstorm, the main thermal pool exploded next, and the boiling water shot up like a geyser. Jaime and Brienne dived under just in time as the searing water rained down upon them. 

Steelshanks draped his cloak over his head, but his men were not so quick. Screaming from pain and fear, the guards stumbled towards the stairs. Steelshanks yelled, “Stay here you cowards! I order you to stay and fight!” But the soldiers ignored him and scurried up the steps, making a hasty exit.

Now only Steelshanks and the Lannisters were left in the shuddering chamber.

Before Jaime could thank their luck, the gushing, boiling water streamed into their cooler pool. Feeling their skin begin to blister, he and Brienne scrambled out and faced the seething Steelshanks. There was no way to retreat from the room as they found themselves caught between the widening fissure, the boiling water, and the old knight who refused to let them pass.

A weary Brienne began to engage Steelshanks when the quaking suddenly intensified. 

With a horrendous cracking noise, the main support column further split causing it to lean precariously over. Another massive tremor hit and the teetering pylon crashed onto the floor hard enough to knock them off their feet. Without the pillar, the center ceiling blocks worked free, and the heavy stones began to drop loudly around them.

Fighting to regain his footing, Jaime shouted, his voice nearly lost in the roar from the shaking ground and falling rocks, “We hold no ill will towards you, Steelshanks. Run while you can!” 

“It was not our intent to poison anyone,” Brienne beseeched him. “Please, you have to believe us.”

Steelshanks shook his head. “I realize now that you were the invaders Lord Ramsay warned us about, and I have failed in protecting this fortress. In the name of my lord, I will not retreat.”

The hot steam and dust were starting to make it difficult to breathe and see. An enormous piece of ceiling fell into the pool beside them, and they ducked away before the water could scald them. 

Jaime grinned. “Then can I interest you in taking this outside where it is safer?”

Steelshanks grimly nodded in agreement. Just as he turned to retreat, Jaime rushed behind him and knocked him out with the pommel of his sword. The older knight toppled over like one of the support columns in the room.

With a glare at her husband, Brienne admonished, “You could not have waited until he was up the stairs?”

Brienne bent to pick up Steelshanks, but Jaime grabbed her arm. “No, wench, he will only seek our deaths—not gratitude—when he comes to.” 

“There is already enough death on my plate today, husband.” With a loud grunt, she swayed as she hefted Steelshanks over her shoulder. 

Frustrated, Jaime got behind Brienne and tried to help his stubborn wench as much as possible with her heavy burden. Finally, between the two of them, they staggered up the crumbling steps with their cargo. 

Jaime did not think it was possible, but the ground shook even harder, and they nearly tumbled down the stairs. The tremors were getting progressively more intense, and it reminded Jaime of Brienne. She could be so quiet and subdued one moment and deadly the next.

The remaining columns around the room were knocked over as the quaking increased. Without the pillars for support, the sagging ceiling began to collapse, and the flooring above crashed into the pools below. At this rate, it would not be long before this section of the fortress fell in on itself.

Shocked at the destruction, Brienne muttered, “Lady Sansa wasn’t wrong about the clogged vents...”

Without another word, they careened up the remaining stairs, dragging Steelshanks between them to the exit. 

Just as they left the room, Jaime saw a blur of motion and shoved Brienne aside. The arakh’s sharp blade missed her head by mere inches. Jaime jumped back into the stairwell and nearly plunged down the stairs when the curved blade swung at him.  
He barely had time to register that Brienne had landed hard on the floor and that Steelshanks unconscious body had rolled away before the door to the corridor was slammed shut in his face.

Frantically, Jaime rammed his shoulder into the jammed door and finally forced it open. The interior shaking was getting worse as the damage rippled outwards, now affecting more of the surrounding floors. Barely keeping his feet under him, Jaime staggered into the hallway.

As bits of ceiling fell around them, Jaime saw that Urswyck had not given Brienne a chance to scramble to her feet and he towered over her, arakh raised. 

Desperate, Jaime flung his sword at him. The shuddering from the quake wrecked his aim, and his blade glanced across the Brave Companion’s shoulder, nicking him. Roaring, Urswyck kicked Brienne in the head, stunning her, and spun to attack Jaime.

The corridor was tight quarters for fighting, and an unarmed Jaime suddenly found himself backed against the crumbling stone walls. Urswyck sneered at his trapped quarry and swung.

Jaime blocked the blow with his metal hand, but the impact took his breath away, and he fell to his knees. Laughing, Urswyck battered Jaime’s raised hand a second time and then a third. Jaime groaned louder with each strike and braced his right wrist with his left hand to keep the blade at bay. Blood slowly began to trickle from under his cuff and trail down his arm.

Urswyck snorted in triumph. “Wish I had time to whittle you down a bit more, Kingslayer, but I want some time with your bitch.” He raised his curved weapon, ready to chop off Jaime’s head.

“Don’t you dare touch him!” Brienne roared and shouldered into Urswyck at full tilt. Her momentum knocked them both to the grit covered floor, and the arakh slid from Urswyck’s grasp. Dislodged stones from above smashed down on top of the dangerous weapon, nearly crushing the Brave Companions fingers when he had reached for it.

As the floor continued to ripple under them, Urswyck staggered to his feet and took advantage of Brienne’s slow rise. His fist slammed into her face in an uppercut, whacking her head backward. 

She barely deflected his next punch with her forearm and then grabbed his fist. She caught his other clenched hand as it swung at her head, doing her best to hold fast against the man and the rolling of the corridor.

While they grappled, Jaime attempted to lurch around to attack Urswyck, but he could not get pass Brienne. As larger chunks of ceiling fell around them, he clutched his aching wrist and urged his feet to get closer. He had to try.

Seeing Jaime stumble towards them, Urswyck grinned and shoved Brienne backward. Her large frame crashed into Jaime, slamming him hard into the nearby door. His arms took the brunt of the impact, and he dropped to the floor as the instantaneous pain temporarily took his breath away.

Through his fog of agony, Jaime saw Urswyck’s sick grin as he easily yanked his hands-free from Brienne’s grasp. She ducked his next punch and she desperately wrapped her arms around Urswyck’s torso like an exhausted boxer. Cupping his hands, he slammed them into her back, bashing her to the quailing floor.

Jaime watched helplessly as the Brave Companion slugged his wife in the mouth. Blood sprayed from her mouth, but she still refused to give up. She began to stagger to her feet, hands fisted.

Leaning painfully against the wooden door, Jaime took in a deep inhale, gearing up to wade into the battle again. That was until he smelled the putrid odor coming from the trophy room behind him. The sickly smell of preserved flayed flesh nearly made him gag, but it also gave him an idea.

Kicking open the splintering door, Jaime ignored the horrible stench and yanked the nearest skin free from the wall.   
Turning to face Urswyck, he saw that the man had his hands wrapped around Brienne’s throat, squeezing for all his worth. She kneeled before him, gasping, weakly trying to paw his hands away.

“Die already, you big bitch!” Jaime heard the man yell. “Your corpse will be willing enough for my needs.”

Enraged, Jaime flicked the dried skin across the lit torches in the corridor. Instantly, the treated skin caught like a candle’s wick and was ablaze. Then, in a sick parody of the cloaking ceremony at a wedding, Jaime tossed the burning flesh over Urswyck’s head and shoulders. 

He heard Urswyck’s muffled screams as his upper body and head were suddenly engulfed in flames. The Brave Companion attempted to rip the skin free, but it had already melted flush upon his entire head like a waxen coating.

As a blind and burning Urswyck frantically stumbled into the corridor walls around them, Jaime curled protectively over Brienne’s limp body until Urswyck collapsed onto the juddering floor, dead.

Satisfied that Urswyck was no longer a threat, Jaime quickly checked Brienne over. She looked as bad as he felt. The cut over her eye and her busted nose had slowed their bleeding, but he was concerned that she was still unconscious.

Ignoring the small rocks and dust that continued to fall on them, Jaime used his sleeve to wipe away the blood on her face. The comforting words he cooed were as much for her as for him, “Come on, love. Please, wake up, Brienne. Please be alright.” 

To his relief, she began to stir. 

“My brave, stubborn, wonderful wench.” He couldn’t stop himself—after every descriptive, he gave her a kiss on each cheek, and the last was a deep kiss on the lips. 

There was a sudden strong jolt as the ground tremors strengthened. Dazedly, she croaked, “Did the earth just move?”

Chuckling, he rested his forehead against hers, his thumb caressing her cheek. “I am glad I still have that effect on you, wife.” He pulled back to stare into her eyes with concern. “Are you alright?”

Slowly, Brienne got her ragged breath under control and winced from the pain of her injuries. She nodded weakly. When his hand cautiously caressed her stomach, she worriedly bit her lip, “I—I think the baby is alright.”

Jaime schooled his features, trying not to show his concern. Brienne had just put her body through so much, and they still had to get out of the crumbling fortress.

Her voice was brittle and coarse as she forced out, “Are you okay?”

Jaime grimaced as he nodded and tried not to concentrate on the throbbing pain that was coming from his burned, beaten, and bloodied stump. Besides being exhausted, he did not know if his shaking was due to battle fatigue or the intense seismic activity around them.

Trying to ignore that danger for now, he concentrated on Brienne’s wounds. Quickly, Jaime checked her over once more and winced for the bruises to her face and throat were already motley in color. At least the sword wound to her arm had stopped bleeding.

With a loud crack, a huge stone block suddenly crashed down to the ground nearby, sending up a curtain of dust and shards of rock. 

Jaime clutched his right arm close to his body protectively. Noticing Brienne’s disbelieving look, he smiled hearteningly. “Yes,” he promised as she anxiously studied him, “I am better now.”

Reassured that she was at least alive and able to continue, Jaime teased, “That is enough resting, wench. I am sure you don’t want to get buried here.” As if to prove his point, part of the wall and floor by the thermal room broke apart and crumbled to the level below.

With a pained scowl, Brienne slowly sat up. “I don’t want to be anywhere near this blighted land when it is my time.”

Grimly, they helped each other to their feet. Over the roar of the Dreadfort shaking apart, they heard the sound of stomping boots rushing from down the corridor towards their location.

“I guess having a fortress falling around them wasn’t enough to drive Steelshanks' men all away,” Jaime sighed. Propping Brienne up against the wall, he grabbed a skeletal torch bearer from overhead and tossed it into the trophy room. “It only fits that the Stark ancestors help finish this place.” 

He shut the door just as the flame ignited the room’s combustible skins. Thick, dark smoke quickly began to seep from under the door. 

Brienne chuckled at his comment warily. Then taking in the smoldering sight before her, Brienne winced at Urswyck’s corpse. She then exhaled deeply as if she had just exorcised her final demon.

In concern, Jaime glanced down the hallway, alert for the guards that were coming their way. He saw where she was looking and asked, “So, is my blood-thirsty warrior wife finally sated?”

“Yes, I am done,” she replied and nearly keeled over when an especially powerful jolt rocked around them.

Jaime grabbed her and held her steady. Frowning, he wrapped his left arm around her shoulders to keep her upright. “Not naptime yet, wench. We still have to escape.”

“I’m fine,” she grumbled, frustration evident in her voice. 

The sound of Steelshanks stirring awake caused a rueful Jaime to quip, “We best leave him. I am sure he will be grumpy, and I don’t think either of us can fight him now.”

Brienne protested, “We can’t go without him, Jaime. He’ll die.”

“His men will be around that corner any moment, and they can take him to safety. Besides,” Jaime pointed out, hefting more of her weight against his side, “I don’t have the strength to drag an old knight and my wench.” 

Before they could argue further, the sound of pounding boots grew louder. They’d be upon them at any moment. With no other choice, Brienne sagged into Jaime, and they began to stagger slowly down the rippling corridor towards the exit.

Suddenly, a small group of soldiers and smallfolk rounded the corner behind them. As they dashed past, none of them even acknowledged the wounded couple or the man on the ground as they raced to escape the quaking fortress. 

As the guards rushed by, Jaime ordered, “Get your commander out of here!” His stern voice cut through their panic, and some of the guards stopped to grab the wounded Steelshanks. 

Jaime smirked at the guards retreating forms as they carried their cumbersome leader away. He turned to Brienne and grinned. “There is hope for most of us yet, wife!”

She grunted hopeful, “Thank the Gods that not all had that meat pie.”

Nodding, Jaime hauled them along, following the growing stream of people stampeding for the exit. With every stumbling step, Brienne seemed to grow stronger and find her feet, but still, they held each other tight for support. Rounding the last corner to enter the main admittance chambers, the two of them stopped in their tracks. 

Brienne had been overjoyed when she had first seen the group of smallfolk that had rushed by them earlier. It had given her hope that perhaps most of the innocents had not ingested that horrid meat pie and would survive. But the sight in front of her nearly wrenched her heart from her chest. 

Many bodies littered the large ante chamber. Some were crawling sluggishly to the main exit, but most lay dying on the cold stone floor. There are no visible wounds and most clutched their stomachs as they writhed in pain.

Guilt overwhelmed Brienne’s senses, and it was not the exhaustion or wounds that drove her to her knees. Already she feared for her unborn child’s health, but seeing the women and children who were succumbing to the poisoned food made her fear for her very soul. Brienne wondered what right she had to continue while so many suffered for their error in judgment.

Brienne’s actions forced Jaime to halt, and she leaned over a young boy who was quietly whimpering from pain. Her shaky hands caressed his pale cheeks, and she sobbed out a breath.

Adamant that they continue on, Jaime tried to pull her away, but she refused. Kneeling closer, she whispered soft words to the child until he died. Tears streamed down Brienne’s soot-and-blood-smudged cheeks, and she turned to comfort another child.

Heartbroken, Jaime croaked, “Brienne, there is nothing we can do for them. But maybe we can help those that are still alive to escape. If Lord Wull switched out the sleeping-draught for poison, who knows how much further, he has gone against Lady Sansa’s plans.” 

Her crisp blue eyes stared into his, and Brienne nodded, her anger overriding her fatigue. “Lord Wull will pay for this, Jaime.”

“That is a vow I can get behind, Brienne. Come,” he held out his left hand and pulled her to her feet.

The rumbling and quaking from below strengthened, and together they teetered to the exit. Seeing some discarded cloaks, Brienne grabbed two and tossed the heavier one to Jaime. He had tried to hide his shivering after being submerged in the icy cooling pool, but Brienne’s watchful gaze did not miss anything.

Once outside, Brienne became aware of the blaring horn that was blown continuously from the tallest tower above the courtyard. Before them, the early morning sunlight broke through the haze of smoke seeping from the building’s windows.   
All around them was chaos. 

As the fortress shook, servants and men-at-arms shoved past Jaime and Brienne, knocking them into the walls and other people. The panicking horde surged through the quad towards the closed main gates.

The blaring alarm grew louder as more horns joined in the warning. Now the noise was almost frantic as the horns attempted to wake those who still slumbered. Only a few guards staggered from the barracks, most too disorientated from the smoke or dying of poisoned food to be of much use. Those that were alive blurrily glanced around and struggled to escape as yet another heavy tremor shook the earth. 

Stress fractures fanned upwards and out from the base of the exterior walls of the main building. The ground beneath the courtyard rolled like billowing silk, and the ramparts atop the fortress suddenly crumbled and fell into the crowd below.   
Jaime tugged Brienne further away from the walls as a massive stone crashed to the ground, not three meters away, taking out a sleepy guard. 

Brienne cried out and turned to the crushed man, but Jaime would not let her go. Cracks were forming in the heaving stones beneath their feet, and noxious fumes and scalding liquid seeped up from small fissures and rivulets. 

Staggering, Jaime and Brienne made it out to the middle of the courtyard. Wide-eyed, Jaime turned and saw that the walls of the once impregnable fortress sagged inwards, ready to collapse. Between the seismic activity and the fire that spread from the trophy room, it would not be long before the entire fortress was in ruins.

Maybe they had done too good of a job, Jaime thought as he followed Brienne and the others towards the main gates.

“My father is not going to be pleased,” he said aloud. When word reached the Hand that his Northern ally’s fortress had been destroyed because of them, they would be lucky to ever leave Casterly Rock again.

Brienne’s ironic laugh was more of a fatigued snort. “Well, Lady Sansa did want this whole place razed to the ground.”

As they stumbled closer to the gates, Jaime saw they were still barred. He frowned at the line of guards that stood sentry in front of it. The men brandished spears and bare swords to keep back the panicked crowd. 

“Open the gates!” Jaime roared over the screaming crowd.

The guard nearest him shook his head. “We have our orders!”

The rest of the mob cried for escape, chanting as they pressed forward. “Hurry, open the gates! The gates!” 

Jaime noticed a small crack that had darted out from the fortresses main building. 

It began to expand into a crevice. Knowing what this meant, Jaime grabbed Brienne and pulled her further into the crowd, trying to get closer to the front of the gates.

While they pressed against those in front of them, Jaime focused on the growing gap behind them. First, people were tripping over the displacement of the ground, and soon they were jumping over the widening fissure. The earth shook once more, and a guard that was attempting to leap over the split lost his balance and dropped down into the jagged cavity with a scream.

The gully began to snake towards the group of people that Jaime and Brienne were with. This caused them to scatter and then surge towards the main gates. This ground deformation uplifted the area under the wall, and several guards tumbled off the ramparts. Boiling steam and poisonous gas escaped through the fissures. 

Frantic, Jaime searched for an alternative escape route. More fracturing cracks spidered outwards from the Dreadfort, swallowing up more people. At this rate, there would be no need for the Wull clan to enter and kill their enemies.

The fearful guards finally opened the gates, and people began to pour out of the fortress. 

Jaime kept a wary eye for any other surprises. The Wull clansmen were supposed to stay hidden until the gates were opened. Granted, he was sure they would still be lying in wait, but now Jaime wondered if Lord Wull’s duplicity went further than poisoning the people, and how safe any of them were now. 

Regardless, Jaime knew that they had to try to rectify the amount of deaths they had inadvertently caused, and he motioned others to run out of the gates ahead of them. But where Jaime expected cries of relief and liberation, there were only more screams of terror. 

Looking over the heads, Jaime saw that it was the Northern Mountain Clan coming to carry out the second part of the plan. The riders descended upon the fleeing people, attacking soldiers first, but soon indiscriminately killing any women or children who got in their way. 

Brienne pushed forward, yelling at the nearest clansmen, “No, stop! You are not to hurt them! By Lady Sansa Stark’s command, you must let them pass unharmed!”

Her voice seemed to reach them, for some of the warriors paused in their slaughter. The clansmen searched for the source of the warning, their faces lined with doubt. 

Jaime realized who they were looking for and stepped forward, pulling Brienne with him. “Careful Brienne, it would be easy to mistake us as Bolton followers.” 

Jaime wondered if the clansmen knew they were supposed to be spared as well. All this treachery was making him paranoid.

Brienne attempted to approach the first clansman, who raised his weapon at her. He viciously cut down someone who ran past him, and then grinned at Brienne maliciously. That answered Jaime’s silent question as to the clansmen’s allegiances.

Jaime grabbed Brienne’s hand and pulled them back towards the burning and crumbling Dreadfort. Her reluctance to follow made him hiss in her ear, “We have to find Janpar and stop this madness.”

Brienne nodded, her gaze never leaving the massacre that was occurring around them. 

“There,” she growled, pointing across the shrieking crowd.

He followed her hand and spotted Janpar striding into the thick of things. They heard him order, “Kill anyone who is not part of our clan.”

Brienne exhaled in anger and wrenched Jaime’s hand from her elbow. “We need to remind him not to kill the smallfolk as Sansa commanded,” she exclaimed.

Jaime shook his head, the truth of Lord Wull’s nature now verified. “Janpar was there, wench. He knows full well that he is not supposed to kill the innocents. Just like it was known that a sleeping draught was supposed to be used and not poison.” 

They watched as Janpar sunk his hunting ax into a passing soldier’s head, and then yank it free. Brienne shook her head, adamant to engage him. “Then I will stop him myself.”

Jaime tried to reason with her, “Neither of us is in any shape to remind him of his orders.” 

Finally, she looked at him. With desperation in her eyes, she pleaded, “There must be some way to get Janpar and his men away from the innocents.”

As if he heard his name from her lips, Janpar turned to stare at them. His toothy, bloody grin was frightening. Consumed by bloodlust, he ran his blade across his bare chest, red welling up along its path. He pointed his crimson knife at them and stalked towards them through the mayhem.

“I don’t think that will be a problem, wench.” 

“Kingslayer,” Janpar shouted, “you will not take what is rightfully mine!”

Jaime moved to stand in front of Brienne and tried to reason with the man, “We only want what is best for the North.”

“No, you only want what is best for you. I know you have already stolen Celyne’s heart; it is only a matter of time before you steal the leadership of the clan from me, too!” 

Jaime shook his head. “I assure you—”

But before Jaime could finish his sentence, Janpar charged. 

Jaime braced himself for the fight. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Brienne pick up a weapon from a dead man and raise it in defense. There was no time or means to escape past the vengeful man. They retreated until the widening crevice was at their back.

The ground under their feet shook once more, and a growing roar was heard from the fissure behind them. Now knowing what to expect, Jaime tugged Brienne away just as a geyser erupted from the large cavity. The steaming water shot up into the air, then pelted the people below with burning liquid. Vapor obscured the area, and Janpar swung blindly in the burning mist.

When it finally dissipated, he saw that the Lannisters had somehow already reached the main gates. Enraged, Janpar sprinted after them, gaining on them as they staggered out and towards the forest. 

Suddenly, a wave of panicked people surged around him. Janpar growled and raised his weapon, cutting down a wide-eyed guard and then an older woman. He pushed his way through and past the main gates of the Dreadfort, peering over the heads of those fleeing and fighting, but it was too late. 

The Lannisters had disappeared into the woods.


	14. Escape

Jaime and Brienne kept to the thick trees and shrubbery, making their way to the spot where they had last left Lady Sansa.   
Jaime thought he recognized the area they were walking through, but fatigue and a smoky haze made it difficult to make out any surrounding landmarks. 

Visibility had been an issue closer to the burning fort, for the smoke had been thick. Though they were out of the worst of it now, the wind was picking up. Ash fluttered around them like dirty snow.

Trying not to choke on the air, Jaime pulled his cloak over his nose and mouth. He still could not stop shivering from the cold; his clothes were still soaked from the baths. But the worst had to be his wounded wrist for it seemed to throb with the beating of his heart. He gave a fleeting glance to his wife and grimaced at her bloodied and bruised features. 

Neither spoke aloud, but they were both worried for their unborn child. Brienne refused to look at Jaime, but every now and then, her hand would rest on her belly and concern overwhelmed her features. This last time, Jaime placed his hand on hers and gave a gentle squeeze. They had fought long and hard; it was not outside the realm of possibility that they would lose the babe. 

Looking behind them, Jaime frowned at the trail they left through the ash and snow on the ground. During their arduous trek, they had tried to keep a wary lookout for any clansmen. Thankfully, the only sound they heard was the light crunching of their boots in the days-old snow. Caution was the key to survival now.

Brienne pointed to an outcropping of tall rocks a league away. It was a familiar formation, and Jaime exhaled in relief. They had found the meeting place. The sight of it energized them, and soon Jaime and Brienne were rushing forward. 

After carefully traversing through the wooded area, they reached the outskirts of the open field. But Lady Sansa and her party were not there.

Suddenly, there was a rustle of movement behind them, and a cautious Brienne tugged Jaime back into some bushes. 

Without preamble, the forest came alive with Northern Mountain Clan members. The Lannisters ducked further down into their hiding place as a group stalked past. 

After what he and Brienne had seen in front of the gates of the fort, it seemed that the clansmen wouldn’t hesitate to kill them. And after all, they had risked for the Northern Alliance, it really galled Jaime, especially since they had been deemed allies to the Wull Clan only a few days ago. 

The clansmen continued onwards and disappeared through the thick vegetation, hunting for any fleeing refugees.

Then a group of horses charged through the west edge of the clearing. Brienne exhaled audibly with relief, and Jaime reached for her hand. Warily, they stood and emerged from the foliage.

Lady Sansa brought her horse up in front of them, the others in her group halting behind her. The young lady gasped at their appearance. Even Podrick and her four guards gaped at them as well. Jaime was not surprised for he knew they made for a pathetic image.

Sansa hesitated, and then she asked, “Are you two alright?” 

Exhausted and near to breaking, Brienne rested a hand on Sansa’s horse and peered up at her. With a curt nod, she rasped, “We are doing better than others, my lady.” 

Relieved, Sansa stuttered, “L-Lord Wull was worried that some Bolton scouts might spot us during the night, so he had us move closer to his camp. We rode here as soon as we thought it was safe.”

Podrick led the Lannisters’ horses over as Brienne growled, “My lady, the Wull Clan has deceived us.” She leveled an accusatory glare at the clansmen who had been tasked with guarding Sansa’s small group; her anger was barely contained.

Frowning, Sansa probed, “What do you mean?” She turned to look at the clansmen in her party. The men stared back in silent challenge.

“Lord Wull switched out the sleeping draught with poison,” Brienne continued, “and those that still live are being indiscriminately killed. Including the women and children.”

Sansa shook her head. “But I told him last night that I had not changed my mind. He knows how I feel about this, and he assured me that all would be taken care of.”

An outraged Jaime sneered, “Yes, by killing off the two witnesses to his real plans. He must have hoped that if he kept you away from us long enough, all loose ends would be taken care of by his people.”

“I doubt he's the only reason why Janpar and the others wanted to kill us,” Brienne snarled to Jaime.

Sansa directed a stern look at the clansmen. “Is this true?” She demanded.

The clansmen did not answer. One by one, they moved their hands to their weapons. It was response enough. Sansa’s eyes flared at their defiance.

Instantly, the other members in her group tensed. Brienne yanked Oathkeeper free from its scabbard on her horse and leveled it at the nearest clansmen. 

Jaime stepped forward and snapped, “Answer your new Warden!”

The clansmen were clearly outnumbered, and despite their obvious wounds, the Lannisters were a terrifying pair. A few of the clansmen nodded brusquely in admittance of their guilt, and the other men in Sansa’s group drew their swords.

Outraged, Sansa waved their weapons away. “You are to spread the word that my command is not to kill the innocents,” she ordered the clansmen. “If you see Lord Wull, you will tell him that I hold him accountable for any lives that were taken against my express orders.”

The men dropped their heads, and one of them answered, “Yes, my lady.” 

With a slight kick to their horses, the clansmen trotted off.

“My lady,” warned Brienne, “if you let them go—” 

Screaming suddenly erupted from the forest to their right and Brienne twisted toward the sound. 

Quickly, Sansa’s group moved around her protectively. Without another word, Brienne hoisted herself onto her horse. 

As she settled in the saddle and grabbed the reins, she commanded, “Stay here with your guards, my lady!” 

The look she aimed at Jaime was, ‘Do not try to stop me.’ Then, with a swift kick to her horse’s flanks, she galloped off towards the terrified shrieks. 

With a half-hearted curse, Jaime pulled himself onto his horse and raced after her.

*

It was not hard to locate where the screams were coming from. A small party of clansmen had cornered a group of innocents in a copse of trees. Brienne barreled down on the hunting party, letting out a blood-curdling wail and swinging Oathkeeper before her. Her grin was feral when she spied Celyne seated further away, leading her fighters from horseback. 

Celyne glanced up just in time to see Brienne veer her horse towards her. 

Despite Brienne’s exhaustion, her rage superseded all, and she swung her heavy blade downwards, shattering Celyne’s sword and nearly breaking the woman’s arm. Instead, the blow knocked the clanswoman violently off her horse.

The rest of the hunters halted in surprise as their leader lay sprawled on the ground. The smallfolk took advantage of the distraction and fled through the trees for cover. Before the clansmen could chase after them, Brienne had already pivoted her horse and was racing back to Celyne.

Celyne struggled to her feet, clutching her arm. Brienne leaped from her saddle and stalked towards her; Oathkeeper poised in front of her. 

The smaller woman swayed slightly, a dagger held in her left hand. Her men were already running towards them, but on foot, they would not make it in time to stop Brienne.

Just as Brienne raised Oathkeeper to cleave the woman in half, a horse burst through the clearing and Jaime charged up to place his mount between them. 

Brienne’s yell was a loud guttural cry of outrage. “Get out of my way, Jaime!” She tried to lunge past him, but he moved to block her. 

“Brienne! Stop!” He commanded.

She was too upset to listen and once more tried to shove aside her husband’s horse. “No! She is killing the smallfolk!”

“And I am sure she is following her father’s orders.”

Panting, Celyne studied the man between them and lowered her weapon. But Brienne was too incensed and pushed Jaime’s horse back. As she did so, the clansmen surrounded them, ready to defend their mistress.

Suddenly, Sansa and her small entourage galloped up and encircled the group. Her presence barely kept the clansmen from attacking Jaime and Brienne, surprise evident on their faces. 

“Lady Brienne,” Sansa ordered, “Cease this at once! You have sworn to do as I bid, and I command you to stop your attack.”

It did not appear as if Sansa had gotten through until Brienne suddenly spun and swung her blade hard into a nearby tree.   
The sharp blade wedged deep into the trunk. The large woman’s shoulders shook from anger that she could barely contain.

Finally, Brienne yanked her blade free and stalked off into the trees, casting a heated look at Jaime.

Sansa turned her attention to Celyne, who once more raised her dagger. “You are openly acting against your Warden’s command not to kill the smallfolk. How do you explain yourself?” 

Celyne hesitated, and then she stood tall. “Father said that you had changed your mind,” she explained finally. “That we were to kill all who escaped from the fort.”

“So, your father makes a play for my power?” 

Jaime could hear the barely contained outrage in Sansa’s voice. When Celyne fervently shook her head, Sansa exhaled, “Well, my lady, your father lied to you and put you in a position to be held accountable. Do you still pledge yourself to me?”

It took a long moment, but Celyne nodded. “Yes.” 

“Then, as your Warden, you will do as I command.” Staring down at the woman, Sansa’s voice rang out imperiously as she decreed, “As the new leader of the Wull clan, you are to get the word out to your people that the smallfolk are not to be harmed. Do you understand?” 

Once more, Celyne bobbed her head, her gaze fierce, and her eyes triumphant.

“As for your father,” Sansa continued, “I want him in chains and taken to Winterfell to await my judgment.” The new Wull clan leader began to argue, but Sansa’s glare silenced her. “He went against my explicit commands. Either your people turn him in, or war shall be declared against your clan. And be assured that I will wipe out every last one of you if you betray me again.” 

Sansa’s stare was as cold as the snow around them.

Celyne dropped her head in acceptance and then clasped her right hand to her chest, eyes bright with a hint of defiance. “As my Warden commands.”

Jaime made sure Celyne caught his pleased grin, and she hesitantly smiled back at him. 

Suddenly there was a loud rallying cry that echoed all around them. The sharp baying noise was one of the scariest sounds Jaime had ever heard. As another bellow sounded closer, Brienne raced back to protect Lady Sansa.

Jaime recognized the owner of that harrowing sound; it was Janpar. Celyne’s party must have recognized his cry as well, for they crouched and watched the trees expectantly. Their apprehension was palpable as they glanced back at their leader, awaiting her orders.

Registering their unease, Celyne called out warily towards the forest. “Janpar, come out of hiding. We have made peace with the Lady Sansa.”

“So you have turned on your father for the leadership of the clan!” Janpar’s booming voice bounced around the cleaning, making it difficult to pinpoint his location. “You are not fit to be his daughter!”

Celyne frowned and motioned her men to fan out, hissing to them, “Find him.” She turned her attention to Lady Sansa and the others and cautioned, “Be wary. He can be very dangerous.”

“We know exactly how dangerous he is,” Jaime assured, his gaze scanning the forests for any sign of that crazed, scarred man. “Your father had him try to kill my wife and me.” 

Startled by his admission, she licked her suddenly dry lips. “Lord Jaime,” Celyne began, “perhaps it is best if all of you leave before—”

Suddenly, Janpar charged out of the nearby cluster of trees and lunged at Jaime. The enraged man screamed, “You turned her against us! This is your fault!” His body crashed into Jaime’s, and both toppled over the side of the horse.

The two men landed on the ground hard, with Jaime taking the brunt of Janpar’s weight. Dazed, Jaime slammed his right arm into Janpar’s face and then howled in pain when his sore wrist connected with the hunter’s jaw. Janpar did not wait for more than a breath before pummeling Jaime with his own fists, his face a feral grimace. 

Jaime tried to block Janpar’s blows, but the man was so consumed with bloodlust that Jaime barely kept him at bay. Blurrily, he could see Brienne charging towards them. She was yelling, trying to make it to him in time. But it was too late as Janpar had pulled free his hatchet and was already swinging it downwards. 

Jaime made a last, desperate attempt to buck the man off him, but could not. In despair, he tensed up, readying for the blow, when suddenly Janpar’s weight was lifted away as Celyne kicked Janpar into the dirt. Outraged, Janpar raised his weapon at her, but Brienne’s boot crashed into his hand, and the ax flew free. 

Seething, Brienne pressed Oathkeeper against Janpar’s neck, poised to slice it open. She glanced over at Celyne and gave her a quick nod of gratitude. 

Janpar glared at Celyne as if she were the traitor. “This man has stolen you from me,” he accused.

“You are a fool,” Celyne spat. “Lord Jaime has only shown me the kindness and respect that you would do well to remember.”

Riding forward until she peered down at the hunter on the ground, Sansa said, “You would be wise to listen to your new leader, Janpar.”

The scarred man glared up at her. “Lord Wull is the only one who can—”

Sansa’s voice was deadly calm. “I do not honor traitors in my camp. Lord Wull went against my direct orders. Pray that I do not hold you culpable in his deceit, as well.” 

Her haughty words enraged the clansman. Janpar lurched to his feet, the hidden dagger that he pulled from his boot gripped tightly in his hand. Brienne stuck her blade into his shoulder as a warning, but the man ignored her. 

Even when the blade dug deep into his flesh, Janpar still twisted away from Brienne and charged at Sansa. As he raised his arm to throw the dagger, a blood-curdling howl issued from his mouth. Sansa raised her arms in defense, but before he could throw his dagger, Janpar gasped and dropped to the ground, a daggers blade lodged deep in his back. His dead eyes gazed up in betrayal at the new leader of the Wull Clan.

Celyne pulled back from her throw, sorrow crossing her features. Brienne and the others stared at her in shock. 

When Celyne finally spoke, it was to Janpar’s body on the ground. “Father was wrong to go against the new Warden’s orders, and so were you.”

With a shaky breath, Sansa said, “Thank you for that, my lady.”

Celyne dipped her head. “We cannot act like our enemies, the Boltons. That is not our way.”

There was a hint of a relieved smile on Sansa’s face. “I could not agree more. Now get the word out about the smallfolk.”

“Yes, my lady. I will spare as many as I can find.” There was a resigned sadness to her features as she promised, “Then I will find my father and deal with him.” 

With a deep exhale, Celyne mounted her horse. On her signal, Celyne’s party galloped out of the clearing.

Brienne helped Jaime up, scowling in the direction of the clansmen. As he tenderly rubbed his aching jaw, Jaime spat out some blood. Brienne frowned, but he grinned a bloody, toothy smile at her. “I am fine, wife.”

She appeared as if she might counter him, but Jaime turned to address Sansa. “My Lady, I think it might be prudent if we put some distance between the clansmen and us. While I do believe Lady Celyne will enjoy her new position, there is a chance that she is still very faithful to her father. And it would not take many of her men to wipe us out, should they choose to stay under Lord Wull’s leadership.”

Understanding how tenuous their position was, Sansa nodded in agreement and watched as the two Lannisters warily mounted their horses. Then the small party rode off in the direction towards Winterfell.

The cowering smallfolk emerged from their hiding place and quickly dispersed, heading South.

*

Seated on his horse near the once impregnable Dreadfort, Lord Wull pursed his lips at the destruction around him. The Dreadfort had been an iconic fortress in the North; now it could never be used again. He could not help the smile that spread across his face. He wondered if they should salt the earth to make sure none dared inhabit the lands around it ever again. 

Between the poison and the fire, the Dreadfort soldiers never stood a chance. By now, the forces from the Northern Clans had driven the few surviving refugees back into the burning and crumbling Dreadfort. Lord Wull was disappointed that it had not been a more challenging fight.

Lazily, Wull signaled his hunters to surround the entrance to the fortress and make sure that no one tried to sneak out of the smoldering ruins. Later, they would go in and finish off anyone who still lived.

Sounds of fighting in the direction of the woods drew his attention. With a sigh, he nudged his horse forward, his men ambling in his wake as he headed towards the sound.

A group of Dreadfort soldiers defended a few wounded guards and smallfolk from Lord Wull’s men. Most of the soldiers were sick from poison or injured from battle wounds. Lord Wull was about to motion his men to finish them off when one of his scouts pushed through the underbrush and jogged over. 

“My lord, word has come from the Warden that we are not to kill the smallfolk.”

Lord Wull scoffed and was about to counter the command when Celyne rode over, her fighters coming up close behind her.   
She nodded to her group of men, and they surrounded her father. Wull raised his eyebrows; his steely gaze demanded answers. She did not make him wait long. 

“Father, I have been made the new leader of the Wull Clan by our Warden Sansa Stark. She has ordered me to arrest you for treason.”

Lord Wull barred his teeth, and his loyal men pressed closer to him, pulling their weapons free. “This is ridiculous. Why? Because I wanted to wipe out our enemy? It was only to help her.”

“By going against her explicit commands, Lady Sansa considers it a power play.” Celyne’s voice was low from grief and accusation. “You have put the clan at risk, father.”

Wull could not help but sound affronted. “I would never turn on the Starks. But that girl does not understand the Boltons and their ways. Someone had to do something.”

“Is that why you tried to have the Lannisters killed? You turned on our allies just as the Boltons would.”

Wull flinched at the accusation. He spread his arms wide in an appeal to his daughter. “I just wanted to make sure that the Boltons would be wiped from this land. It was for the good of our people."

Celyne shook her head. “I had to kill Janpar to preserve the honor of our clan,” she said, looking away from him. “Because of you.”

Lord Wull started at her admittance, but Celyne looked back before he could interrupt her. “What else could I do, father? You said Lady Sansa had changed her mind, but you lied to me, to all of us. How does that prove to the outsiders that we can be trusted to be a part of the Northern Alliance if we are just as traitorous as the Boltons?”

Scowling at her sharp words, Wull then dropped his head. “You are wise, daughter.” He motioned his men to lower their weapons. “Wiser than even your father.” 

Lord Wull chewed on his daughter’s words. It sickened him that because of his actions, his proud clan should be grouped with the treacherous Boltons. He knew that the people of the Dreadfort were just as bad as their Lord and would turn on Lady Sansa eventually. But perhaps it had been a mistake to overstep his position so early in their alliance. Such a girl needed coddling and coaxing. Meanwhile, the pride of his clan hung on a thread. 

Sighing loudly, he bowed to Celyne, accepting her new station. “Then I am glad Lady Sansa has chosen as I would have for our people. You will honor us all, daughter.”

Though it was a bittersweet compliment, Celyne nodded in gratitude and visibly relaxed. Her men surrounded Lord Wull, but they did not dare chain him. At least not yet.

*

Ramsay Bolton rode towards his ancestral home with a huge grin on his face. His father had promised that once the Stark girl was found, he would marry her to Ramsay. His father believed it would be easier to keep all the Northern Lords in line if the Boltons and the Starks were bound by marriage. Ramsay thought his intimidation method of flaying was better, but he would not mind getting a new plaything. The delightful images that came to his mind made his smirk grow.

As he and his group neared the Dreadfort, Ramsay noticed the distant smoke and heard the sounds of far-off fighting. The smoke was thick and black, and it billowed up from the direction of the fortress. Not caring if the others in his party followed or not, Ramsay kicked his horse’s flanks and raced off to investigate.

The closer he got to his home, the sicker he felt. Rounding the last bend in the road that led to the main gates, he came upon a scene that twisted his gut. The once impregnable fortress was now a blazing ruin. The few guards and smallfolk that were alive fought to escape the death trap, but none could get past the well-armed clansmen.

There was a loud boom, and Ramsay pulled his horse up short. The fortress shook violently, and an exterior wall tumbled over, crushing people in its wake. Ramsay could not believe what he was seeing. During his whole life, his father had declared that no one could destroy the Dreadfort, and yet here it was falling apart before him. 

As he sat astride his horse looking agape, the others in his party drew up beside him. They halted, as surprised as Ramsay to see the once invincible fortress now a pile of smoldering debris. 

The few survivors who were clear of the fortress stumbled in a daze. Others fled into the woods as they were being chased by small bands of Northern Clansmen.

Ramsay had expected the dead scattered around the fort to be burned or bloodied, but a large number of the bodies were untouched—peaceful, almost. There were no visible signs of damage to them, and Ramsay had half a mind to ride up and kick them awake. That was until he realized that they had stopped breathing, their faces twisted in frozen grimaces as if the pain had been excruciating.

Ramsay sat back in the saddle and surveyed the carnage. He was thankful he had left his best dogs back at Winterfell. The possibility of losing them within the Dreadfort’s kennels would have been devastating.

A howl erupted suddenly from the forest to his right. Ramsay jerked his horse around in surprise as a small group of Northern Clansmen bled from the trees and began to attack the young lord and his men. 

Stunned, Ramsay watched as one of his men was cut down with an ax. Another man was speared in the chest, his mouth agape. He had no idea where these barbarians had come from, but it was obvious they had something to do with the destruction of his ancestral home. 

Now his rage had a target. Baring his teeth, Ramsay charged into the thick of it, his sword out. Enraged at the audacity of these savages, Ramsay’s sword swung down upon his enemies until their blood dripped from the tip of his weapon. 

Ramsay grinned, his face a blood-splattered mask of death. He felled a large man who had the nerve to grab his horse’s reins, slicing the man across the chest and belly. As the man collapsed, Ramsay snatched a mace from the dying man’s slacken grasp. He raised the heavy weapon and swung his horse around, stoving in a man’s head with the ferocity of his hit. 

He did not stop the gleeful laugh that escaped him as he swung both weapons, slashing one person across the chest with his blade while the other received a crippling blow from his mace.

Around him, Ramsay’s men took on clansmen two at a time. His men had formed a defensive circle, trying to guard one another flanks. But still, the savages kept on coming. In no time, Ramsay and his men were overwhelmed by their numbers. 

Ramsay had been so caught up in the bloodbath that he didn’t realize how low his numbers had fallen until only two of his men remained alive. His stomach suddenly dropped at the thought that these Northern bastards would finish the great Ramsay Bolton off. Sneering, he vowed to take all of them to the Seven with him.

Suddenly, Steelshanks and a group of surviving soldiers crashed through the surrounding foliage and broke through the wall of clansmen that surrounded Ramsay. 

The old Knight was a master with his broadsword; he cleaved a man in half with the heavy weapon. Finally, Steelshanks and his men drove the clansmen back into the trees.

Ramsay knew it was only a matter of time before they regrouped for another assault. 

Infuriated, he turned his horse, intent on riding down every last man who occupied the fortress, but Steelshanks called him back. “No, my Lord, it is too risky! Let them have the ruin!”

“Where are my men, the Brave Companions?” Ramsay yelled, twisting back to face Steelshanks. “Do not tell me they are cowards and ran.”

Steelshanks clutched his side and tried to straighten his posture. It was clear that the old man was in pain. His eyes glinted in anger at Ramsay’s words. “They are all dead.”

Frowning, Ramsay registered how many of his men were left. Of the soldiers clustered around them, it appeared as if only about a fifth those stationed in the Dreadfort still lived. But even that number was a joke. The men who were not helping to carry or drag the wounded were either bleeding, burned, or clutching their stomachs in agony. Ignoring the men who were useless to him, Ramsay glanced around for the remainder of his soldiers who could fight.

“Where are all my troops Steelshanks?” He shouted, his voice rising in panic. 

Before Steelshanks could answer, Ramsay shook his head and whined, “No, no, no! This cannot be all of my father’s reserve force!”

Steelshanks jerked his chin toward the barracks beyond the crumbling fort. “Most of the men would not wake up. We pulled as many of those left alive as we could.”

“Who did this?” Ramsay demanded.

Steelshanks glanced down at his boots. He took a deep breath for resolve and looked up at his lord. “It was the Lord and Lady Lannister. They are working with our enemies. They poisoned our food and then opened the gates to the Northern Clansmen.”  
“That is impossible,” said Ramsay. “Tywin Lannister has allied with my father.”

“I know, my lord. I thought so too—but they have deceived us.” Bolton’s second-in-command sounded perplexed. “I have no idea why the Lannisters would turn on us. They are not aligned with the Starks. Perhaps they have gone mad.”

“How could they have destroyed this?” Ramsay pointed a shaking finger at the ruins of his home. Before Steelshanks could say anything, Ramsay shrieked, “And why were they even allowed in? You were told to specifically not to allow anyone in until I got back.”

“They said they were on the run from their enemies,” Steelshanks explained. “And since they had just killed Baratheon and they are—were allies to your father; I thought it would be alright.”

“You. Did. Not. Think!” Ramsay’s voice rose with every word. 

Glancing around, Ramsay expected the Lannisters to be at his feet in chains. Instead, he saw only his injured men. He frowned, “Where are they now? Why are they not here? Surely you did not let them escape!”

Steelshanks could not look Ramsay in the eye. “They got away.”

The young lord leaned over in his saddle, his gaze almost level with the large knight below him. “You were a fool not to have killed them, Steelshanks.”

“But they are Lannisters, your father’s allies!" 

Ramsay shook his head. He was past caring about House allegiances, especially since the Dreadfort was now just a smoldering ruin and their lands in the hands of their enemies.

He turned away from Steelshanks. His cold eyes stared at nothing. “I want the Lannisters brought to me, alive. They will be flayed, like all enemies of the Boltons; and once the Dreadfort has been rebuilt, I will hang their skins in the great hall for all to see.” 

The thought of a ‘lion’ pelt hanging on his walls mollified him somewhat.

“No my lord,” Steelshanks protested. “We must go to Winterfell, immediately. This is just the beginning of an attack against your father.” 

Ramsay glared at him, and Steelshanks did his best to explain calmly, “First, you take out the reinforcements before the main attack—“ 

In irritation, Ramsay snapped, “I know how an attack works!” He waved at the ruins behind him. “I want that scum to pay for what they have done!” 

Steelshanks shook his head. “With the majority of your father’s reinforcements either dead or incapacitated, getting to Winterfell should take precedence. There may not be many of us left, but there are enough of us to help your father hold Winterfell until other reinforcements arrive.”

“What other reinforcements?” Ramsay spat. “The Freys? I doubt they will want anything to do with us now that the Lannisters have turned upon us.”

Frowning, Steelshanks stated, “I am not sure if their House even sanctioned this. Lord and Lady Lannister had no men with them. If we could send a message to King’s Landing—”

Ramsay spoke over him, “Obviously we cannot trust anyone now.” 

He glared at the man who had allowed all this to happen and thought that later he would have his dogs hunt him down. The young Lord was pleased to see the older knight gulp nervously. He would have flayed Steelshanks, too if he did not need him.

Catching his lord’s flinty gaze, Steelshanks licked his lips in worry. “We should leave for Winterfell now my Lord while we are strong enough to do so,” he reiterated.

Ramsay looked around him at the destruction the Lannisters had caused. Seething inwardly, he played it off by inspecting one gloved hand. There were clansmen in the forest, but it would be a waste of his men to chase after them. Steelshanks cleared his throat again, but Ramsay was bored of hearing the old knight’s excuses. 

He waved his hand dismissively, “Yes, yes, we can go now. But the ones that can’t march will stay here.”

Steelshanks grabbed the horse’s reins to stop Ramsay from riding away. “But the wounded should retreat with us.”

“Leave them to the Northern Clans,” Ramsay declared imperiously. “My men should consider it an honor to stay behind and buy us time.” 

The old knight still refused to let go of the reins. “But my Lord, they are your people—”

Ramsay yanked on the reins to free them. “They will slow us down. According to you, we need to reach Winterfell right away. The ones who can walk will follow us; the rest can stay here and rot for all I care.”

Steelshanks could be just as obstinate as the young lord who towered above him from a horse. “They are my men, too, my lord.”

Tired of having his commands subverted, Ramsay narrowed his eyes into slits of rage. “How many of your men did we lose to your incompetence?”

Steelshanks released Ramsay’s horse and stepped away from the dangerous lilt in his lord’s voice. “I should hardly be to blame for—”

“That was my home, Steelshanks!” 

In a fit of pique, Ramsay pulled free his blade and ran the old knight through. Steelshanks’ eyes widened, his hands fumbling at the blade. With a startled, bloody gurgle, the old knight fell over dead.

“Consider this favor,” he said to the corpse, pulling his blade free and wiping it clean on his cloak. “You are not worthy of having your foolish skin on our walls.”

Ramsay heard horses whinnying in the trees. The Northern clansmen were already regrouping. He peered at the men around him. They looked fearfully between Ramsay and the dead knight in the snow. 

Ramsay pointed his sword north. “We ride back to my father in Winterfell,” he shouted. “Now!” 

“My lord?” A soldier stepped forward nervously before Ramsay could ride off. “Do you still want us to go after the Lannisters?”

Ramsay gritted his teeth and shook his head. “No, I have a feeling they will come to us at Winterfell.” He narrowed his eyes, a grin creeping across his face. “And when they do, my blade will be waiting.”

Steelshanks had been right about one thing—this was just the beginning.


	15. Trek

Sticking to game trails, Sansa’s small group continued to ride towards Winterfell. Far in the distance, the smoke from the once great Dreadfort melted into the early afternoon sky.

Earlier, Lady Sansa had approached the Lannisters to talk about what happened at the Dreadfort, but Jaime whispered to her that it was not a good time. She studied the dejected Brienne, nodded to Jaime, and left them to be by themselves. 

Now Sansa rode next to Podrick, quietly conferring with him. Occasionally, she would glance back at the Lannisters with concern. She wished she could do something more for them.

“Do you think they will be alright?” She asked Podrick. If anyone knew about Lady Brienne, it would be her squire.

Podrick looked over his shoulder at the exhausted pair of riders who made up their rear guard. He leaned over and spoke low to Sansa, “It was always difficult to tell with Lady Brienne. She would ride until she nearly fell off her horse.” 

“Yes, she is very stubborn.” Sansa nodded, taking his words under advisement. “And Ser Jaime?”

The young man shrugged. “I know little about him. But his brother often said that Ser Jaime was obstinate but also very dedicated. I think it best if we leave them be for now. It seems that whatever happened in the Dreadfort affected them badly.”

“Yes, I think you are right.” She smiled genuinely at him. “Thank you Podrick.”

“My pleasure, my lady.” He returned her grin, and they settled into an easy conversation that was born from the camaraderie of being on the run for so long together.

Taking up the rear, Jaime and Brienne trailed further behind the main party. Brienne’s eyes were fixed on the haze of smoke that hung in the direction of the Dreadfort. What they had done had not been intentional, but so many innocents had died because of their actions. She was not sure she would ever be able to forgive herself.

Jaime cleared his throat, but Brienne shook her head. “I do not wish to talk of this now, husband.” 

“But we will when we are not so bone tired, wench.” 

Though his tone was cordial, Brienne knew that he was sympathetic to her feelings. But she also knew that Jaime was tenacious; he would not let her alone for long. Swallowing thickly, Brienne dragged her eyes away from the smoke and focused instead on the path before them.

“Yes,” she said finally. “We will.”

The adrenaline rush of battle had long since passed and neither Jaime nor Brienne could keep their exhaustion at bay. They had bruises under their eyes and blood caking their clothes. After cleaning her up as best they could, Jaime was thankful to see that the swelling from Brienne’s facial injuries had lessened. His own wounds had been bound hastily, but it would do. He only hoped that they had the energy to stay seated on their horses long enough to get far enough away from the Dreadfort. 

Thankfully, they would be on the outskirts of Winterfell in a day or so, where they would camp and wait for Jon’s all clear signal. Tonight they would camp under the stars. He glanced at the darkening sky and frowned. Thick, black clouds had rolled in from the north. By nightfall, they would shroud the sky completely.

‘Just great,’ Jaime thought, displeased. He realized the weather summed up his foul mood rather well. And this turn in the weather would not help his already throbbing stump.

It was late in the afternoon when he saw Brienne slump over the back of her horse. Before he could grab her, she startled herself awake and caught herself from falling off her mount. They had to find a place to rest soon. 

He nudged his horse to a trot and drew up beside Sansa. “I think it would be best if we stopped soon.” Jaime glanced back at his wife who was frowning at him. “The weather is going to get nasty, and it will be difficult to sleep in a storm.” 

Sansa nodded and called out to the two guards in front of them, “Start looking for a good place for us to rest.”

It was not long before they found a secluded spot off the road to set up camp. As the party dismounted and began to clear the area for their encampment, Brienne stomped over to Jaime. 

“Jaime,” she hissed angrily, “I do not need to be coddled.”

“No, but I do.” He tucked his wounded wrist closer to his body. 

She pursed her lips and asked, “Do you want me to help you take off your cuff?” She tried to get a better look at it, but her husband hid it from her view.

Jaime smiled and answered cheekily, “I have grown rather attached to it, wife.”

Before she could push the point, Podrick appeared and handed Jaime some jerky. Jaime nodded his thanks and tore off a piece before passing it to Brienne. She glanced at the meat and then turned away quickly, pressing her hand queasily to her mouth. 

Her voice was low when she admitted, horrified, “When we were back at the baths, the smell of cooked meat was enticing, but now…”

Jaime certainly did not blame her as he handed food back to Podrick. Oblivious to the horror of which Brienne spoke, the young lad bit into the meat with gusto. Smirking, Jaime wondered how much being with the Clansmen had influenced Podrick’s table manners.

Sansa hid her smile as she watched Podrick shovel the rest into his mouth. She crouched next to Jaime and Brienne as they placed their bedrolls on the ground.

“You must tell me what happened,” said Sansa. “How did you manage to destroy the Dreadfort?”

Jaime’s smile was all teeth. “We had some help from the skins of your ancestors, my lady. They worked wonderfully to turn the Dreadfort into a raging bonfire.”

Lady Sansa grimaced; she had heard tales of the skins the Bolton’s used to decorate their halls. She made to speak but stopped at the sight of Brienne turning her back to them. She looked at Jaime, but he only shook his head. 

“Your suggestion about clogging the thermal baths vents was spot on,” he said quietly, hoping to distract Sansa from his wife’s obvious displeasure.

Sansa smiled appreciatively. “Then I am glad that my mother’s paranoia was well-founded.”

After exchanging a few more words with Jaime, Sansa excused herself, leaving the Lannisters alone. Sighing at his wife, Jaime tucked himself against Brienne’s back and curled around her. He was too exhausted to talk or do anything further about their wounds, and sleep instantly overcame him.

*

Before the morning sun had even risen, Jaime and Brienne woke up to the sound of an active camp. When he began to sit up, a terrible soreness radiated from Jaime’s limbs, and he had a hell of a time moving. As the others in their group finished breakfast, the Lannisters finally rose and shambled towards their horses. 

Groaning as he stretched, Jaime sneezed. His throat felt scratchy, no doubt due to his time in the cooling pool yesterday.   
While his wench tossed her saddle onto her horse, Podrick came over with a bowl of porridge for each of them. Glumly, Brienne took the offering and sat on a nearby large rock. She appeared as if she could hardly stay upright.

Jaime nodded his thanks to the young squire when he was handed his portion. Instead of sitting by his wife, he stayed standing, staring out in the direction that the Dreadfort was in. It was difficult to make out the smoke among the dark patches of storm clouds that now covered the dawn sky.

Sighing, he turned and studied his exhausted wife as she finished her helping of food. He noticed she appeared less green after she ate it. He knew part of her nausea was due to her guilt over the innocents being killed.

“Scoot over for your old husband.” 

A small grin tugged at her mouth, and she did so. 

Sitting next to her, he quickly shoveled the lukewarm gruel into his mouth. The meal sat heavy in his stomach like a fist.   
Podrick returned to retrieve their empty bowls, and once he left, Brienne began to rise. Jaime placed a hand on her arm. She exhaled loudly and sat back down.

Jaime eyed her belly and gave her a questioning look. Brienne shook her head; a bit of relief was reflected in her eyes.   
Quietly, she assured him, “I have had no cramping or discomfort there. I-I think the babe is okay.”

Jaime sighed in relief, and a weight left his shoulders. Leaning in, he made sure that he caught her gaze. As his thumb caressed her pale cheek, he smiled and said, “This is good news, Brienne.”

She nodded, but he could see the concern gnawing at her. He knew she would not talk of the Dreadfort yet, so instead, he studied her features. “Your face is looking better. The swelling has gone down.”

Brienne grimaced as she touched the bruises. She stared pointedly at his metal hand. “And how are you?”

Standing, Jaime shrugged and stepped over to his horse. “It is still attached.” 

Grabbing the saddle from the ground, he threw the cumbersome burden onto his mount. He gritted his teeth when it bumped against his hurt wrist. Jaime made sure to hide his pained expression from his wife who had enough problems already.

The others in their party had taken their cue from the Lannisters, and the campsite had been hastily packed up. Encouraged that they were ready to go without his having to ask, Jaime clambered onto his horse’s saddle.

Addressing the group, he called out in forced cheer, “Come; we have much time to make up before the storm hits us.”

Lady Sansa and the others followed suit and they rode out of camp. Once more, Sansa and Podrick took the lead while the Lannisters stayed at the rear. As they rode, Jaime glared down at his metal hand, doing his best to ignore the continuous throbbing pain that radiated from beneath it. 

Brienne saw him wincing and nodded her head at his metal hand. “We should remove the cuff.”

Jaime nodded. “Yes, but I think it would be better if we waited until after Winterfell is recaptured.”

He doubted he would be able to pull it back over his already swollen wrist again, and he might have need of it.

Brienne frowned, but she did not pursue it further.

*

As the day progressed, the weather turned for the worse, and thick dark storm clouds continued to form overhead. A sharp, blustery wind whipped around the party as they rode toward Winterfell. Any moment now, it seemed the skies would open up. 

They were only a few hours from Winterfell when the storm finally hit. Jaime had hoped that the cover of thick branches overhead would help keep them dry, but even trees could not shelter them from the angry rain that pelted down. 

Jaime pulled his cuffed wrist closer to his shivering body protectively. His throat ached, and his chest was tight. The freezing rain was not helping the illness he was developing or his mood. But it was the excruciating pain from his wrist that he was most concerned about. It had not felt this bad since if had first been chopped off.

Jaime hunched even more in his saddle. Worried, Brienne insisted on trotting her horse next to his. She took in her husband’s pale pained features. Though he tried to shield his metal hand tenderly against his body, Brienne saw that blood was seeping from under his cuff. 

Not caring that they were in the middle of the trail and under constant rain, she stopped. Jaime followed suit, frowning at her.  
She nodded to his cuff and commanded, “It must come off. Now. Let me see it.” 

Jaime pressed it tighter to his body. Brienne ignored him; her palm held opened and waiting. 

“But I might need it,” he appealed to her. “How can I protect your back without it on, wench?” 

Registering his defiance, she gave in a little and said, “It could get infected. I don’t want you losing any more of that arm than you already have.” 

She knew that it was his worst fear, and sure enough, Jaime clamped his eyes shut in anguish and held out his wounded arm to her. 

Carefully, she pried his cuff free, trying to be as gentle as possible. He hissed in pain as the swollen appendage was slowly revealed. Brienne winced when she took in how bruised, burned and bloodied his stump was. Groaning in discomfort, Jaime flinched as she lightly pressed upon the top of the stump to check if anything was broken or infected. 

She was relieved to see that it was not as bad as she first feared and consoled him, “Husband, you are very lucky. But you must not use it anymore for now.”

“Thank you wench,” he said sincerely, and she glanced into his eyes, relief tantamount in his gaze and words.

With as much care as she could, Brienne bandaged his stump. With another piece of cloth, she made a sling for him to use and helped him cradle his wounded wrist safely within.

Brienne realized that they could not camp in the wild tonight, not in these conditions. Jaime could get sick again if they did not find a warm place to stay. She watched him violently sneeze once more. Besides his wounded wrist, he seemed to have caught a cold. 

Jaime noticed her concern. Smiling through his grimace, he cajoled, “I just need some wine, wench.”

“You need a healer,” she returned harshly.

She peered at him, considering their next course of action. They had planned to camp on the northern outskirts of Winterfell, but now she was convinced that they should stay in the town instead. It would shave off a few hours, and getting out of this foul weather suited her just fine.

Jaime shrunk further into his furs, and she wondered if he could make himself look any more tragic as rain dripped from his sodden locks and beard. Sure enough, he sniffed pathetically, “I think we should stay at an inn tonight.” 

She nodded curtly. “Agreed.” 

Pleased by her quick acquiescence, he relaxed and nodded his thanks. “I feel better already, wench.”

Snorting, she stated, “Well, I cannot allow my old husband to catch his death of cold.” 

Before he could respond, she once again set off to catch up with the others, but this time at a faster pace. With a grin that was instantly overcome by a loud sneeze, Jaime kicked his horse and followed right behind her.

*

Hours later, Lady Sansa and her escorts arrived on the outskirts of Winterfell. The outlying town was cast in a gloomy fog, reflecting the feeling of oppression that radiated from the old Keep on the hill. 

Although it was midafternoon, thick clouds obscured the low-hanging sun. A light mist had been falling for hours now, and the party was soaked to the bone. 

Pulling her hood closer, Sansa hid her grin as she spied her ancestral home. It had been so long since she had last seen it.   
Upon closer inspection, she saw Bolton’s banners hanging from the sides of the main gates. Although the sight left a bad taste in her mouth, she still felt satisfaction that she had finally arrived back home.

The others in her party also smiled at the sight of the Keep, relieved to be nearing the end of their journey. Caught up in a brief moment of levity, they failed to notice a shadowy figure tucked into a dark alcove across the way, which gauged their arrival with interest.

Unawares, the party continued to trot down the muddy track in the center of the town. After a quick inquiry to an obvious Bolton supporter, Sansa found that most of the lodgings were full. The occupants of the town were subdued, and Sansa was at least relieved that news of the Dreadfort had not yet reached the town. If it had, lodging would have been the least of their worries. 

With a slight nudge of her heels to her horse’s flanks, Sansa led their party onwards. 

Wearily, they saw a group of darkly uniformed Bolton Sellswords, who enforced the “peace” and curfew, joking to one another on the corner. No doubt to keep any troublemakers in line. Thankfully, they barely acknowledged Sansa and her small group's presence as they cantered past.

Further down the main road, they came across a run-down inn that was slightly less crowded. Sansa shared a look of trepidation with Brienne as they took in the boarded windows and the old, poorly-patched roof.

Jaime practically fell from his saddle when he stopped his horse; he was so tired. “The Dead Man’s Fang,” he read from a sign swinging over the door. “Charming.”

With coin and a toothy grin, he was able to procure three adjoining rooms in the inn. Sansa and Podrick would take the middle room, while her guards took one of the far rooms and Jaime and Brienne the other. Jaime knew it was inappropriate that Podrick should room with Sansa, but he really did not have the energy to separate two youngsters. Besides, the last thing he wanted at this moment was to share a bed with a lad. Brienne’s silence on the matter told him that she, too, lacked the energy to protest. 

The hike to their rooms was more arduous than Jaime thought possible. Without a word, both Lannisters undressed, and Jaime collapsed onto the musty bed. Brienne started a fire and placed their clothes near it to dry. It was clear that she did not wish to discuss the events at the Dreadfort, although Jaime knew she must be feeling the tug of guilt at innocent deaths. He tried to catch her eyes once or twice, but she moved through her tasks in morose silence. When she finally climbed into bed, Jaime lifted the covers open for her and held her until she fell asleep in his arms.

*

Though worked up for the battle to come, Jaime and Brienne managed to get a few hours of sleep. When they finally woke, they lay together in bed, quietly watching the glow of their dying fire. Brienne’s grumbling stomach made the dozing Jaime laugh. 

“Come, wife; we should head downstairs and get something to eat before our child gnaws through your belly,” Jaime said with a smirk. 

Brienne rolled her eyes and patted her noisy stomach. “Yes, the babe does have your appetite.”

Jaime could not resist lightly biting her bare shoulder. “Well, you are rather tasty.”

She forced out a laugh at his comment and stretched her long arms over her head, her shoulders audibly popping. Groaning, she pulled back the covers and stood. Rubbing her sore back muscles, she stretched her shoulders again, working the kinks out of them.

After watching his wife’s mild calisthenics, Jaime was much slower to get out of bed. While his stump still ached and he felt tired from his head cold, Jaime needed to get his mind off of things. Alas, he was too exhausted and sore for their usual carnal release.

With a tired yawn, Brienne followed her husband to the hearth, and they began to dress. Though the fire had dried their garments well enough, there was still that feeling of moisture that was a tad uncomfortable.

As Brienne waited for him to finish dressing, she stared sullenly out of the window. Jaime regarded his introspective wife as he stuffed his feet into his boots. She was either obsessing about the massacre at the Dreadfort, or she was worried about tomorrow’s battle. Knowing her, it was probably both.

Either way, it was a good thing they were going down for dinner now. It might be the morale boost they both needed. He hoped that being among people might take their minds off their past and future troubles. 

It also wouldn’t hurt to hear the latest news from the North. They had been on the road for well over three months, and he felt that maybe some good news would help perk up their mood. 

As he hooked Widow’s Wail around his waist, Jaime said cheerfully, “Come wench, let’s see what this fine establishment has to offer.”

Brienne indicated his bandaged wrist with the tilt of her chin. “We’d best do something about your wrist first.”

Jaime nodded. It would not due to be seen with a stump up here. The Lannisters were not very welcome up North. Speaking of which… “Hum, yes, and don our disguises as well, my surly squire.”

She groaned. “I hate doing that. Besides, my stomach is starting to show, and I doubt any will believe me.” She suddenly became hopeful, “Maybe we best stay up here instead.”

Jaime quickly shook his head. She was not going to get out of supper that easily. “Your cloak will cover your stomach. Come now; you play the part so well.”

Biting her lip, she grumpily relented. “Fine, but next time, I get to play the Lady and you the squire.”

He smiled, “Of course, my love.”

After securing Jaime’s bandaged stump beneath his cloak, Brienne hooked her cowl over her head, thus shadowing most of her face. She set her features into an exaggerated scowl and hunched her large shoulders forward. She turned to Jaime and raised her eyebrows. “My lord?”

Jaime grinned, pleased at her transformation, and had to stifle a laugh when he heard her sigh as she followed him from the room. 

Playing the cocky Lord, Jaime sauntered into the hall and rapped soundly on the neighboring door. Brienne’s hulking form stood protectively behind him. 

When a sleepy Podrick answered the door, Jaime asked, “Would either of you care to join us for dinner downstairs?” 

Even Jaime’s enthusiasm could not change the youngster’s mind, and Podrick shook his head as he shut the door on them.  
Upon inquiry, none of Sansa’s guards wished to join them either; they preferred to stay where it was warm and nearer to their charge.

“No one has any sense of fun,” Jaime sighed dramatically. In truth, he was secretly pleased to have Brienne’s company all to himself.

Trudging down the stairs, they came across the bored Innkeeper. He motioned for them to sit anywhere, but Jaime hesitated when he saw that only a vagrant was seated at one of the low tables. It did not say much for the food served in the establishment. 

Once seated near the hearth, Jaime crinkled his nose as he took in the grimy surroundings. This would never do, and he knew they could certainly do better. The more he thought about going somewhere else, the better it sounded. Besides, he doubted they would get the latest news here. He nodded decisively and said, “I think it would be best if we went elsewhere, wench.”

Brienne groaned, “What? Why?”

Trying to sound light-hearted, Jaime joked, “You promised me wine, wife. And not the swill they serve here. I am a lord—I require opulence.”

Sure enough, Brienne’s frown grew even more furrowed. “No,” she hissed. “I agreed to a stay at an inn. And you choose this place.”

“I was desperate at the time,” Jaime whined. Her caustic look made him smirk. “Don’t tell me you want to risk having supper here? Did you get a look at those poor emaciated animal they have set up for tonight’s slaughter?” He grasped her warm hand in his and tugged on it. “Come, this place seems dull anyway, and we could use some entertainment. Maybe we can even find out what’s going on back home.”

Brienne seemed hesitant until he pulled her up from her seat and whispered in her ear, “A night out on the town with your favorite husband, how can you say no?”

His infectious mood seemed to work because she finally gave in. “Alright, I guess it would not hurt to hear what is going on around here.” She grinned, which then changed to a glare of resolve, “But we won’t stay out for long.” 

He innocently intoned, “Of course not.”

Tracking down the Innkeeper, Lord Jaime asked arrogantly, “We’ve decided to go out instead. Are there any taverns that would have more…agreeable company and wine?”

The man was clearly offended, and Jaime pressed a cooper in his hand. In an instant, the Innkeeper’s face broke into a hospitable grin. “Yes, Lord,” he said. “The best place to go is the ‘The Porker’s Sterne.’ And tonight you are in for a treat; the bard Tom O’Sevens will be there.”

“My father says he is the best in the Seven Kingdoms,” Jaime murmured. Brienne only shrugged, unimpressed, and followed him outside. 

They strolled down the dirt road to The Porker’s Sterne. 

Passing more of Bolton’s Enforcers, Jaime was pleased that the surly group of loud men did not pay them much attention.   
Too focused on the heavy presence of loyalists throughout the town, Jaime and Brienne did not see the group of men who watched them enter the crowded tavern. With a quick nod to one another, the men followed the couple inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that next chapter will have fluff...well, my version of fluff ;-)
> 
> Thanks for reading this!


	16. Dinner and a Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, it is kind of fluffy...

The tavern was packed, and Jaime could hardly hear himself think over the noisy crowd. It appeared as if he was not the only one who knew the bard’s reputation.

Patrons parted for the large, hulking squire and his Lord, and the duo finally found space to sit in one of the back corners of the room. The bruising that Brienne had endured from earlier in their journey only added to her fearsome visage. And if his wife had to speak, she kept her voice to a low, manly grumble of, “Move.” It worked like a charm. 

Maintaining their ruse, Jaime ordered a pitcher of mulled wine, a cup of watered down mead, and the best food the kitchen could offer. The serving girl apologized profusely and announced that the only food left was brown bread and horse hoof stew.  
They nodded that they’d take it, and Jaime handed over a few coins. He smiled reassuringly at Brienne as the serving girl disappeared with their order. 

The girl returned a short time later with a tray laden with two full bowls, a platter of sliced bread, and their drinks. Jaime eyed the bowl of stew that she set before him. Bits of gelatinous pink fat floated on the surface of a watery broth. Chunks of pale celery and diced carrot drifted aimlessly below the surface. 

The girl watched them expectantly. “It is quite good, milord,” she tried to reassure him. 

“I fear this might be the horse we rode in on,” Jaime declared. He could not contain the derision in his tone. A chunk of onion bobbed to the surface of his stew and became trapped in a glob of fat. Jaime scrunched up his nose. 

Barely hiding her indignation, the serving girl said, “I made sure you got the best parts of what was left. There’s even a bit of ankle meat in there, milord.”

Jaime peered at his bowl suspiciously. Brienne kicked him under the table and said in her low squire-voice, “Our thanks. We are quite famished. I’m sure this will be just fine.”

The serving girl shrugged and turned away. 

Jaime pushed his spoon around the congealing mess. “You’d think an establishment that could attract a bard like Tom O’Sevens would have better food.”

Reluctantly, Brienne scooped up a small portion with her spoon and blew on it. “Yes, but most of the good food was probably taken by earlier arrivals.”

Jaime knew he was doing a piss poor job of hiding his disappointment. He had hoped to ply Brienne with a delicious meal for their first night out in such a long time. Now he eyed his wife in concern, afraid she would decline her portion. As he watched his wife take a tentative bite of it, he sighed. The food smelled atrocious, but after one taste of the stew, Brienne smiled at him and dug in.

“It’s not too bad,” she said, sounding surprised. “A bit slimy, but it has a good flavor.” She nudged Jaime’s portion closer to him, as if that would entice him to try it.

Instead, he made a dubious face and pushed his bowl back her way. She frowned at him. “You need your strength,” she said between mouthfuls.

Jaime grimaced at what she was eating and reached for the pitcher of mulled wine. “I think I’ll stick with alcohol instead, wench.”

As he sipped the warm, spicy wine, Jaime surreptitiously glanced at the occupants throughout the room. It was easy to tell the Bolton and Frey factions from the Stark supporters. They were the loudest, most arrogant men, already drunk and demanding the attention of the serving girls. 

Jaime did not believe news of the Dreadfort had reached anyone here yet as well. But it would be soon. Perhaps any scouts would mistake the smoke billowing from the fortress for storm clouds. So far, there had yet to be an influx of refugees, and Jaime imagined that the survivors were still on the road to safety. He hoped word had reached them to head south instead of north. 

Those loyal to Winterfell were a rather somber lot. Jaime could only make out a few of their hushed conversations. They spoke of the late Stannis Baratheon in worshipful tones and groused about being stuck with Roose Bolton and his bastard son. They blamed the gutless Lannisters and felt abandoned by those in the South. 

Jaime knew they would have to be more cautious in these volatile surroundings. He hoped that the Stark factions would be smart enough to keep quiet, but time and drink were making them more vocal. Even now, a group of men debated over what was worse, being flayed or burned alive at the stake. 

Brienne shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Jaime could tell that she wanted to assure them that tomorrow things would be different, but she dared not.

The tavern owner must have gauged the crowd’s restlessness. He hurried up to the front of the room and drew the room’s attention by banging on a large pot. Motioning the room to be quiet, the thin man shouted, “I am pleased to introduce the best bard in all of Westeros, Tom O’Sevens!”

The handsome singer made his way over to the offered chair near the huge hearth. As he sat and tuned his lute, a serving wench graciously set down a large flagon of wine in front of him. Once his instrument was ready, he smiled at his audience. 

Jaime was surprised at how young the man appeared. He must be very good indeed to have earned such a reputation at so young an age.

Chairs creaked and tables shifted as men and women leaned forward in their seats around the room. 

The bard struck a chord, and a single pure note floated into the air. The bard’s speaking voice was strong and chased melodiously after it. “Here is a story that I heard overseas. Was there just a month ago and many things have been stirred up—of heroes and queens and fiery things.”

Then he sang in a beautiful voice about white haired maidens and dragons across the sea. His lilting tone was smooth and calming. His audience listened, spellbound, as he waxed lyrical about the young Targaryen Dragon Queen and her fight to free the slaves of Meereen.

Jaime was tense throughout the whole of the bard’s tale. Brienne leaned over to him, excited, and asked, “The dragons, could it be true?”

He remembered the dragon skulls resting beneath the Red Keep. Lifting his cup to his lips, he murmured, “For all our sakes, I pray not.”

The song ended with the young queen continuing her fight to free the slaves of Slaver’s Bay. The young bard called her the “Mother of Dragons” and the crowd erupted in applause.

Next, Tom O’Sevens sang a few well-known melodies, the audience singing along with his words. Brienne fidgeted in her seat, looking as if she’d like to join in. But there were too many people in the room, and she held back, leery of their neighbors. 

Jaime saw her caution, a fleeting grin flickering on his lips. He spoke low enough for only her to hear. “Not to worry, wench. When we are home at Casterly Rock, I will have him come and sing to us personally. Then you can join in as loudly as you please.” 

Brienne nodded, satisfied, and took a sip of mead. Jaime was pleased that even though the food had been awful, at least the entertainment was exceptional.

The bard smiled winningly at those around him and took a deep draw from his flagon of wine. Setting it aside and picking up his lute once more, he said, “A new song is making its way through Westeros.” He paused and smiled again. “The Ballad of Brienne the Blue.”

Startled, Brienne quickly glanced up from her cup. 

Jaime spat out the liquid he had partially swallowed. A few of their neighbors grumbled, and he started to apologize, but the glower from Brienne shut them up immediately. Jaime did not know if she was pissed or embarrassed to have a song dedicated to her. 

Tom O’Sevens struck his lute again, and Brienne turned a burning shade of red. Perhaps the bard should have picked that color to sing about instead of blue, Jaime thought, as Tom began to sing.

There once was a maiden not so fair,  
That ran about Westeros as she dared.  
Ugly as anything, but honorable of heart, this Maid   
Gave up her privilege to leave the Isle of Tarth.  
She was entrusted to protect her true King Renly, and watched him like a hawk.   
He made her his Knight of Blue, but, alas, it was all for naught,   
For she soon stood over his body, blamed for his grisly death.  
She pleaded her innocence, claiming a shadow had done it.  
But no one believed her, and she was soon on the run,  
Until Catelyn Stark tasked her to escape with the Kingslayer out of Tully’s prison.  
Return him to King’s Landing, Lady Stark pleaded,   
And bring me my daughters, before they are beheaded.

Thus through the Riverlands walked the Kingslayer and the Maid,  
Bickering continuously until they finally crossed blades.  
Alas, their passionate exchange led,  
To their capture by some spurious men.  
They would take her and rape her, the Kingslayer knew,   
So in order to save her, he promised them gems, both beautiful and blue.  
But though the Maid was spared, Lannister lost his paw and his roar.   
That was until he risked it all and leaped into a bear pit to save her.  
The selfish Kingslayer, a breaker of oaths,  
What reason could make him care for his onetime foe?  
A woman unfair of face and built like a man,  
But honorable to a fault, a trait that the Kingslayer had never had.   
Thus that was how the Maid of Tarth,   
Tamed the infamous oathbreaker's heart.

Once delivered to King’s Landing, she left to pursue her oath,   
For the Stark girls were still lost somewhere in Westeros. 

Over the singing, Jaime heard Brienne gnashing her teeth. Unaware of the danger lurking in his audience, the bard continued:

I will help them, she pledged, until I draw my last breath,   
But she stumbled upon the Hound only days into her quest.  
Their battle was epic, violent and bloody,   
Two even-matched opponents, and then the Hound got lucky.  
Nearly beaten to death, our Lady of Blue,  
Allowed her anger to surface for she needed a drastic action to win this duel.  
For, once the warrior’s fearsome rage finally overtakes,  
She will bite off a man’s ear just to mark her place.   
Soon the mutilated Hound was thrown off a cliff,  
Repeatedly dashed upon the rocks, he has not been seen since. 

“How do they know any of that?” Brienne hissed angrily, and Jaime winced.  
Shrugging guiltily, he whispered back, “I might have mentioned in passing to my brother—” Her eyes flared dangerously, and he quickly amended, “Or maybe it was Podrick? He seems like a bit of a big mouth—”  
Not at all mollified, she turned her hostile glare back on the singer.

Fearless and fierce, noble heart in her throat,   
Blue’s past came to haunt her by attacking her old oaths.  
Once more accused of King Renly’s murder,   
Her vow of innocence would not be deterred.  
Trial by combat! she insisted, would clear her name.   
And good King Tommen allowed her claim.  
To seek vengeance, the Hound’s brother came at the Queen’s behest.   
Oh, surely, one of those Clegane boys stood a chance!  
Though the Mountain was bigger, Lady Blue was smarter,  
And the man soon toppled over just like his brother.  
For Blue had asked someone else to fight her fight,  
And the Mountain was killed by the Viper’s strike.

Now Blue is married to the Kingslayer himself,   
A man of betrayal and perhaps something else?  
For Brienne of Tarth, with your eyes so beautiful and blue,  
Only a truly reformed lion could ever deserve you…

Beware the wrath of Brienne the Blue,   
Just look at her funny and she will kill you. 

The bard finished to a smattering of applause and cheers from the Bolton supporters. Soon, the rising grumble from the Stannis factions overwhelmed those who had enjoyed the song. One of the drunken patrons called out, “She has no honor! She killed off all the Baratheons!”  
“She’s a Kingslayer!” Another yelled from the front.

Tom appeared flummoxed at this reaction.

Clearly still upset by the song, Brienne registered what was being said around her. The shouting between the divided groups got worse. One of their neighbors groused loudly, “Sounds like she can’t protect anyone. More like Brienne the Cursed!”

Worried, Jaime took a fortifying gulp of wine, draining the cup. 

Brienne listened to the outraged patrons, mortified. She wanted nothing more than to get up and yell her true intentions. As if sensing her wish, Jaime dropped his cup and gripped her arm tightly in warning.

Someone nearby hissed noisily, “Well at least the Kingslayer is stuck with her. They are welcome to one another, as far as I’m concerned.”

“They’ve made the situation worse for us. At least Stannis doesn’t flay tax evaders!” The drunken man was quickly hushed down as Bolton supporters glared his way. 

Furious, Brienne wanted to shout, ‘No, he just burns them and uses dark magic to kill his enemies!’ But she held her tongue. No one would believe her anyway. They would try to fix this tomorrow when Lady Sansa made herself known. Speaking up now would only incite violence. Still, it took all of Brienne’s restraint to keep from jumping to her feet and defending her honor.  
Jaime rubbed his hand calmingly on her leg, and Brienne took a steadying breath. 

She ignored the few uniformed Bolton Enforcers that sauntered into the tavern. Thankfully they seemed to focus and glare at the more unruly patrons.

“Maybe she should vow to protect the Boltons so they will die too!” Another Stark supporter shouted. 

It was enough to spark an already volatile situation, and a Bolton fist flew into a Stark jaw. In the next breath, a scuffle had broken out and the outraged patrons began to fight amongst themselves. The Enforcers waded in and began to punch anyone who got in their way.

Brienne stood up and shoved her way through the brawl and towards the tavern’s exit. She nearly cheered when an irate drunk slammed his fist into the bard’s face. 

After ducking a flying chair, Jaime staggered after her, stumbling from the amount of wine he’d consumed and the furious, jostling crowd. 

*

Jaime waited until they were back in their room with the door shut and bolted before he comforted Brienne. She sat forlornly on the edge of bed, its weak mattress dipping dangerously close to the floor.

Worried, Jaime sat next to her. “My lady wench, they are easily swayed by misinformation.” 

Brienne snorted in disbelief. “But there was partial truth to his song. I do cause pain and death to those I’m sworn to help. Hell, the Hound was only trying to protect Arya when I came upon them. I am such a failure.” She rubbed at her wet cheeks with her sleeve and then quickly cut him off before he could say anything placating. “Yes, yes, Stannis is dead, and Lady Sansa will be safe as the new Warden. But often it comes with a price. We are blamed for killing three Kings between us, Jaime. Three!”

“Technically, I killed two of them, and the other one was not your fault.” Jaime bumped his shoulder into hers.

Shaking her head, Brienne stared at her feet. “But that song is how people will learn of my deeds. I will be forever known for killing two kings.” 

“Usurpers, you mean,” Jaime corrected. He understood Brienne’s distress; he had felt the same when Ned Stark accused him of killing the Mad King just to take the throne. That deed had dogged Jaime’s heels for years. His wench would normally sneer at any derogatory remark aimed at her, but if the idea that she was dishonorable took root, it might destroy her.

“And look at the Dreadfort,” Brienne continued. “Once word about our contributions to its destruction, about how we poisoned its inhabitants… We will be blamed for killing innocent people, Jaime!” She once more wiped tiredly at her eyes.

“The onus on that goes to Lord Wull,” said Jaime firmly. With his good hand, he reached up and tugged her head to rest on his shoulder. 

Brienne’s voice was hushed with guilt. “Others will not see it that way. They will only accept that we were the ones who put the poison in the food.” 

“I imagine that would not be a very good song,” Jaime smiled, rubbing her back. “Well, Tom O’Pain-in-the-Ass is no longer invited to Casterly Rock. Ever.”

Instead of making her laugh, Brienne’s eyes began to well up again. Turning, Jaime wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close. She began to shake as tears ran down her cheeks.

“P-people would be alive today if we had not been involved,” Brienne stuttered out between sobs.

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Jaime frankly. “Perhaps it would have been worse for those women and children if we had left them to fate.” He hoped that his words could somehow mollify the guilt she felt. “War causes many innocent deaths, Brienne.”

She shook her head in denial. “There had to be another way.”

“You are right to lay some of the blame at our feet for trusting Lord Wull,” Jaime amended. “But I would carry that guilt for all eternity if it meant there was a chance for us to survive the coming battle for Winterfell.” He felt her stiffen next to him. 

He cupped her chin and raised it enough to look her in the eyes. “We might not change how we are perceived today, my love, but tomorrow we will make right what we have done. I swear to you that, Brienne.”

With a resigned, sad smile, Brienne nodded. “I hope you are right.”

Silently, they removed their clothes and climbed into bed. As they settled in, Jaime spooned her and rested his aching stump against her warm belly. It was firm and swollen with their child, and Jaime closed his eyes against the promise of tomorrow. It would either make them or break them. 

*

The next morning, Jaime groaned awake. He snuggled closer to his wife, who moved her arm under his head. He cracked his eyes open to look at her. Unsurprisingly, his wench was wide-eyed and staring up at the ceiling. She had likely slept ill from the previous night’s events.

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Jaime was thankful that the pain in his stump had ebbed to a mild roar. And the spiced wine from last night had done its job. He felt much better, his illness having mostly abated. Though it was tempting to stay in bed longer, he still forced himself to sit up. 

Ignoring Brienne’s growl from the sudden draft, he crawled out of bed, taking the covers with him. Wrapping himself in the confiscated blanket, he stared imperiously down at his naked, frowning wife. She eyed him grumpily as he tossed the covers back over her head and began to dress. “Come, wife, it is time to get up.”

Her loud exhale sounded long-suffering. As she yanked the covers back down with the grip of her toes, she glared up at him, arms across her chest.

With a mocking smile, he grabbed the end of the blanket and began to tug it slowly off, “Wench, I saw you staring awake, stewing in your own juices. It won’t do you good to simmer that long in your guilt.”

“We do not have to leave here for another few hours.” Her tone was dangerously low. “What are you up to, Lannister?”

He smiled at the suspicion in her voice. “You are forever right, my Lady Wench, I am up to something.”

Jaime held his stump close to his chest and waved his left hand to mimic a dramatic parry. “My ulterior motive is that I need the practice and you need to vent. I fear that if you don’t hit something soon, you may break apart more violently than the Dreadfort.” 

Squinting her eyes at him in doubt, she said, “What about your stump?” 

He pulled his breeches up, exasperated at her stubborn refusal to comply. “It is still asleep. Now get up, get up.” He suddenly threw himself on top of her before she could move out of the way. “Unless you wish to deal with your frustrations in other ways?” A smirking Jaime rubbed himself provocatively against her.

Her scowl grew deeper. She must be angry indeed, Jaime thought. Best take this outside. It would certainly be safer to tackle her irritation when the only sword he could lose was not attached to his person.

“If you will not grant me release in one way, then at least grant me the other. Unless you want to talk to me instead.” His face was right in hers.

“There is nothing more to say,” she ground out, struggling under his heavy body. “Fine.”

Satisfied, Jaime rolled off of her to stand by the side of the bed.

Brienne tossed off the blanket and groaned when her feet landed on the cold floor.

“You could at least hand me my pants,” she snarled at him, stretching tiredly.

He tossed her the clothes, and it was for the cold and not propriety that she quickly put them on.

“Of course, I would not want you to bite off my ear or anything.” His chiding voice made her growl louder. With determination, Brienne stomped into her boots and then stood up.

As she marched out the door, he grabbed their blades and followed after her. He could not help his smile; she was too easy to cajole. 

It was early, and most of the inn was still asleep. They moved quietly down the stairs so as not to wake anyone. As soon as they stepped outside, Jaime was tempted to turn right back around. During the night, the cold rain had become a light powder of fresh snow, and the chill on the air was painful. They decided to go just far enough from the inn that their noises would not wake anyone. 

Now Jaime took a page from his wife’s book and began to stretch his sore body for the fight. He flexed his ruined wrist carefully and winced again. Jaime knew he had been using it too much, and it almost cost him dearly. His stump still ached, but he was stubborn too. He promised himself that he would take up practice with his left until he was as good, if not better, than he had been with his right. 

He picked up his sword. “Just go easy on me, wench.”

With a grin, she nodded. “I promise not to beat you too hard.”

As they eased into sparring, she critiqued his form. “You are hitting too low again. We should wait until you are feeling better.”

Hiding a grimace as his throbbing stump nagged him once again of its troubles, he chortled, “I can be just as obstinate as you.”

Continuing their practice, her husband’s plan to distract Brienne from her guilt was working. Jaime’s constant jibes and barbs soon spurred her to anger. As they battled to and fro, their bodies warming to the movements, Brienne’s anger changed to that of lust. It was always thus with their swordplay, but this time, Jaime would not be swayed by the obvious leering gleam in her eyes. He was stubborn and relentless with his swings. 

After they had fought a little longer, Jaime signaled that he needed a break and leaned back against a tree to catch his breath.  
Brienne stalked over to him and dropped Oathkeeper on the ground. She tugged the sword from his hand to join its twin.  
“Brienne, what are you—?”

Brienne ignored his question, attacking his mouth with hers and pinning him against the tree. Jaime dug his fingers into her side and kissed her back. This was more than the usual lust after a bout; Brienne had been ravenous for him in her pregnancy. It was a change that Jaime embraced whole-heartedly, but this was not a good time or place. He pulled away from her mouth.   
“Wife, I hardly think—”

“Good,” she growled, already unlacing his breeches. “Let us both stop thinking for just a moment.”

She yanked at his pants until they sat low on his hips. She would show him just what temperament she was in. While she eagerly kissed him, her callused hands worked their way down to his cock. “I’ll be quick,” Brienne panted against his mouth. “Just enjoy, husband.”

Groaning in pleasure, Jaime’s head fell back against the tree. He could not help but jerk in her grasp as her warm hands did marvelous things to him. He fleetingly hoped that her anger and frustration from last night had been curtailed somewhat by their aggressive foreplay. It was pregnancy, yes, but he also knew that Brienne had demons that nagged her thoughts as much as his own did. If swords were not enough, he would be more than willing to give himself over to Brienne’s desires. 

Though he usually enjoyed his wife’s wonderful touch, the cold air was hindering his arousal. But then she dropped to her knees and her warm hand was replaced with her hot mouth. 

He could not help himself; Jaime grabbed her hair as he moaned louder. After a few more moments of her ardent ministrations, Jaime was about to reach his release when he heard a chuckle across from them.

Embarrassed, the wench quickly shot to her feet, standing protectively in front of Jaime. They had both been so engrossed that they hadn’t heard the approach of several cloaked men who now surrounded them, their weapons raised threateningly.

One of the hooded men stepped forward. 

“Why if it is not the Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock,” he said jovially. “Far from home, I see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again so much to Bergamot! She made some amazing edits to this and really helped me with the song.


	17. Attack on Winterfell - Part 1

“Why if it isn’t the Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock. Far from home, I see.” The large, hooded man’s haughty, gruff voice sounded vaguely familiar to Jaime, but he could not place it. After he had motioned his soldiers forward, the six men circled the Lannisters. 

Jaime stared at the cloaked man, urging his mind to work, but it was still foggy from Brienne’s earlier ministrations. He bought them time by fumbling his bits back into his breeches. The cold—and this new threat—helped to take the wind out of his sails, so to speak. 

Brienne’s eyes locked on her sword that was just out of reach. She took a step toward it and the hooded man hissed to Jaime, “If you do not wish to become a widower, I would urge your wife to behave.” 

Nodding, Jaime tugged Brienne back. “Wife, you mind a little help here instead?” 

She kept her eyes trained on the men surrounding them and tucked Jaime back into his pants. Anxiously, she yanked too hard on the laces and nearly castrated her husband, who yelped.

“Sorry,” she mumbled and loosened her hold. Uncomfortable, Jaime tugged and rearranged as best he could.

Sneering at the embarrassed couple, the hooded man rested his foot on a nearby rock. “Ah, good. All presentable now?”

Acting befuddled, Jaime moved forward. “You seem to have us at a disadvantage. I am sure something could be worked out, Ser—”

The man laughed and then stopped mid-chuckle to study them both. “Save your breath, Lannister.” 

Jaime squinted at the man, still trying to remember him. “I say, have we met before? Other than your rude manners, you seem familiar.”

The large man bowed mockingly and lowered his hood, “You don’t remember me, my lord?”

Shaking his head mirthlessly at the man before him, Jaime said, “Ser Boros Blount? Strange to see you so far from the King’s side.” Very seldom were the Kingsguard called out of King’s Landing unless the Hand had ordered the strictest of discretion. 

With the knowledge that his father had been the one to send Boros after them, Jaime relaxed somewhat. Though he did not like the possible reasons for why they had been tracked down, at least it wasn’t Ramsay and his men.

Taking their cue from their leader, the other six men lowered their hoods. They wore plain leathers, and Jaime figured these heavily armed men must also be loyal to his father. “And who are these upstanding gentlemen?”

Ignoring his question, Boros said, “We heard this morning about the Dreadfort falling. I hope you two were not part of that. But then you still smell of soot, so I think you were involved. Your father will be most displeased.” Boros sounded more thrilled than upset.

Jaime glanced disinterested at the fingernails on his left hand as he stated, “We did a favor for the Hand. The Bolton's could never be trusted. Why they turn so often that their cloaks are reversible.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “So, why are you here, Ser Blount?” 

Frankly, Jaime always thought that Boros would have made a better food taster than Kingsguard, and he wondered what the corpulent man had done to have been sent out after them.

“Your father was wondering why it’s taking you so long to get home to Casterly Rock.” Boros’ piggy eyes squinted at Jaime in accusation, “Besides destroying things you shouldn’t, was there another reason you two have not ridden home yet?”

“Well, we are still on our honeymoon. And this is such charming place.” Jaime shrugged at the large knight. “We had thought to have privacy while up here. How did you find us?” 

Shoving his hands into his belt, Boros proudly stated, “With you not showing up at Casterly Rock, the Hand feared you two might have gotten into trouble. That was until he heard the latest news about a certain redheaded fugitive being spotted up North.”

Brienne began to say something, but Boros cut her off, “Yes, he marveled at the coincidence that as soon as Stannis was killed, Lady Sansa Stark showed up too.” He looked especially smug as he rubbed his fingers to indicate coin, “It did take some doing, but the bounty hunters pursuing her were kind enough to let us know that you were here with her.”

“Bounty hunters?” Brienne could not help but glance back at the inn in apprehension. 

Boros caught her concerned look. “I wouldn’t worry about her anymore, my lady. From I heard, those bounty hunters will be taking good care of the Stark heir.” 

Brienne took a step towards the inn, but the guards moved to block her path. “You best get out of my way,” she warned.

“I am sure.” Boros laughed, unimpressed by Brienne’s menacing air. “Now the Hand informed us that if we happened upon you, we should remind you that your vow to kill Stannis has been fulfilled. We’re here to escort you both home to Casterly Rock, and you’re to stay there. For good.”

Boros leered at Brienne, looking her up and down. “Seems you have another obligation to the family now, my lady.” His head flicked in the direction of the Inn. “As for the Lady Sansa and her turncoat guards, I’m sure they will be taken care of shortly.” 

Having had enough of his threats, Jaime placed himself between Boros and the fuming Brienne. “Blount, this is ridiculous, you know me. Can we not come to some sort of agreement?” 

Jaime did not want to fight anymore. He was too tired, and his stump was throbbing as was the headache he now had. But he knew his wench would never cease trying to fulfill her pledge to Catelyn Stark to get her daughter to safety.

With a derisive laugh, Boros replied, “No. I fear your father more than honoring any past dealings with you.”

Jaime spat churlishly, “You are known for your ‘honorable’ ways, Ser Knight. Perhaps I could interest you in something of value? Even someone with your ample… appetite could be sated.”

Smirking, Boros snidely replied, “Your father promised me more than you could ever give, Kingslayer. And don’t bother to try to buy my men off, either. They’re as loyal to your father as I am.”

Jaime always wondered if Boros had resented him being the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. His curiosity now had been quenched. “You should be loyal to the King, not the Hand.”

Boros shrugged and answered with a patronizing laugh, “Same person.”

Now Jaime knew why his father had sent him. Tywin would be a fool not to use such loyalty to his advantage. And Tywin Lannister was no fool.

Boros’ beady eyes focused back on Brienne. “The Hand gave us permission to break your legs and drag you back to Casterly Rock if that’s what it took to get you to go home and do your duty.” To emphasize this order, he yanked free the large mace from his belt. “It is for your own good, my lady.” 

Brienne had had enough of this odious man. She shoved past Jaime to challenge him, her hands clenching tight at her sides. “I’d like to see you try.”

Boros licked his lips and looked to his men. One by one, they drew their weapons. 

Jaime snarled angrily, “You idiots; she’s pregnant! What do you think my father will do if you kill my heir?”

Boros grimaced and then waved at his men to stand down. “Come with us to Casterly Rock, now.”

The Lannisters shook their heads, and Boros sighed. He did not look forward to this fight. Lord Tywin would be less than pleased for this to come to blows. Both the Lord and Lady were formidable fighters, and the Lady Brienne did have a reputation of being a tough brawler. But surely they were no match for six against two. “You are outnumbered,” said Boros. “Accept your fate and come along quietly.”

“No,” Brienne grounded out, her voice dangerously low. Jaime recognized that tone and took a cautious step backward. The men surrounding them noticed his retreat and frowned.

“Wife—” Jaime began, but already he noticed that her tightly clenched fists were shaking in rage. 

Seeing their concerned glances, Boros muttered over his shoulder to them, “She is nothing.” 

A man directly behind Boros rubbed his mouth. “But you heard the song from last night, and add to it that she is pregnant.   
Women in her condition are fierce, Ser Blount! Trust me; I have three older sisters.”

The men began to mutter warnings at their leader. “Brienne the Blue,” hissed one of the men. 

Another asked boldly, “Is it true about the ear thing?” 

Another choked out, “Yes, I saw that fight between her and the Mountain. She nearly ripped his head off.” 

The guard next to him nodded his head in agreement. “I heard in her bloodlust she killed five of Littlefinger’s best guards from the Vale,” he breathed.

“You will not take us,” Brienne growled. If her voice could purr any deeper, it would have been feral. Even Jaime leaned away from her in alarm. 

The guard closest to Boros took a tentative step back. Brienne sneered at him, and her fierce snarl was so loud that it caused the others to back away. 

She lunged at the nearest man, who shrieked like a startled rabbit. He turned tail and disappeared into the encircling woods. When she turned and focused her stormy eyes on another man, he dropped his weapon in fear.

Suddenly, she began to wail and scream as the Northern Clansmen did, and two more men darted off into the trees in retreat.

“She’s an animal!” Boros crowed, turning white from terror, his large form shaking.

Brienne’s banshee howl echoed through the chilled glade. Her next guttural cry sent all but Boros scurrying away into the forest for safety, the men clutching their ears as if she would take those first. Roaring, she charged at Boros, who was too scared to move. Her fist connected with the side of his face, and he was knocked backward. Boros slammed hard into the ground and laid there unconscious.

She pivoted and stalked towards Jaime. He hastily held up his arms in surrender, concern evident in his features. “Calm down, love. It’s me, Jaime—”

Surprisingly, Brienne started to laugh uproariously. 

“Look at them run!” She stated gleefully with a bark of laughter. Seeing her husband’s flummoxed features made her bray even harder. She bent over and put her hands on her legs, her back shaking with her guffaws. Between snorts, she wheezed, “You should see your face!”

Jaime realized that his mouth was gaping open like a fish. He had thought she’d gone mad. 

Finally catching her breath, Brienne grinned. “I guess having a certain reputation is beneficial after all.” 

With a castigating tone, Jaime bit out, “They will come back, though. Probably with reinforcements this time. And I doubt they will believe you again, wench.”

Brienne could not help but tease, “Well you certainly helped with acting all scared and quaking in your boots. Well done husband.” 

Forcing a smile, Jaime stated good-naturedly, “You startled me, wench. When you are in that sort of mood, I worry that I might be collateral damage.”

Grabbing his face, she unexpectedly nipped his neck as if to mark him, “Oh, my husband, I will never hurt you—in a bad way.” She scooped up their swords and handed Widow’s Wail to her husband.

As he sheathed the blade, he said, “And don’t think I haven’t forgotten that your tongue lashing was interrupted.” He rubbed his still aching cock and she chuckled all the more. 

Sobering up, Brienne grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind her, back to the inn. The early dawn light cast an orange hue against the front of the inn, and that was when they spotted a man hiding in the alcove across the way. He was watching the road on the other side of the nook and had not seen them yet.

Brienne stopped and held up a hand. She signaled Jaime to watch their backs. Silently, she snuck up on the man from behind and then grabbed him in a chokehold. The man gasped and tried to break free, but she flexed her arm tighter against his throat.

The man grabbed at his side and pulled out a dagger. He thrust, but Jaime was expecting it and easily snatched it from the man’s grasp. Brienne squeezed harder still, and the man turned a shade of purple. Jaime’s admonishment only sounded half-serious, “Wench, we need to question him, not pop his head off like an engorged tick.”

Brienne lessened her hold, but just barely. Jaime leaned down to glare into the man’s face. “You know who we are?” The man grunted an affirmative. “Then surely you know what we are capable of.”

The man rasped, “I’m just the lookout. I know nothing.”

“Oh?” Jaime searched the man. “Your friends are not here yet. Otherwise, I am sure there would be some sort of commotion. But I bet they’re on their way.”

The man refused to answer.

Pulling free a well-worn parchment from the man’s cloak, Jaime shook his head in disappointment as he read it. He showed Brienne and she gnashed her teeth in annoyance. It was a bounty order for Lady Sansa, and a hefty rewarded one at that.

Jaime tapped the man’s nose with the rolled up paper. “Your silent treatment will not last for long, my friend. Wife—“ 

The man gulped. Brienne snapped her teeth near the man’s ear. “His ears are a bit small for my taste, husband, but I guess they will have to do. I am feeling a bit peckish.” 

His eyes widened in fear, and he stuttered, “Please, don’t take them! My—my friends will be here at any moment.”

Sighing wearily, Jaime took advantage of the man’s panic and waved the paper in his face. “And who has placed this bounty on Lady Sansa’s head?”

“It was Littlefinger,” he wailed.

Jaime cursed, and Brienne flexed her arm in anger, choking the man. He mistook her actions and gasped, “Please, it is the truth, my lady.”

Jaime nodded at Brienne, and she further tightened her hold around the man’s neck. He fought briefly and then slumped against her. After making sure that he was unconscious, they dragged him into the shadowy alcove that had kept him concealed. By the time the man woke, Brienne and Jaime would be long gone. 

They raced into the Inn and up the stairs to wake up their party. After rousing Sansa and her drowsy men, they rushed to the stables and readied the horses. Sansa and the rest of the party looked groggy, but they paid heed to the warning. 

The original plan had been to wait a bit longer to make sure that Winterfell was under Jon Snow’s control; now they had no choice but to depart early. With so many hunting them, they dared not tarry any longer.

Clambering onto their mounts, Jaime and Brienne took the lead. Two of the guards bracketed Sansa and Podrick, while the other two took the rear of the group. Everyone seemed tense and alert as if expecting the bounty hunters, Boros, and his men, or even Lord Ramsay himself to descend upon them at any moment.

Before they could make it past the Inn, they heard a shout and Boros and his men galloped towards them.

Pivoting their horses, they raced through the town, trying to lose their pursuers. Using the narrow side avenues to their advantage, they twisted and turned until they had pulled far enough ahead. Ducking down an alley, the small group watched concerned as Boros and the others charged past. It would not take them long to realize they had lost them and double back.

Cautiously poking his head out, Jaime saw that Boros was conferring with another group of riders. He recognized one as being the lookout for the bounty hunters.

“Damn it.” Jaime cursed, “There are too many to lose now.” Horrified, he watched Brienne pull Oathkeeper free from its scabbard. The look she gave him was one of determination and remorse.

Before Jaime could say anything, two of Sansa’s guards nudged their horses forward. “Stay here,” one of the men urged. “Once we lead them away, ride as fast as you can out of here.” 

“They will kill you if you are caught,” Brienne warned. 

The man nodded in understanding and glanced at his companion. “If we get away, we will find you.”

With a curt nod, Brienne signaled them to go, and the two guards cantered out of the back of the alley in the opposite direction of their pursuers.

Once far enough away, they began to yell loudly and then they galloped off towards the end of town. Brienne heard one of the bounty hunters exclaim, “There they are!” 

The bounty hunters and Boros’ men must have thought that the two men were the tail end of Sansa’s party because both groups of men tore after the retreating guards. As they jockeyed for position, Boros fought the bounty hunters, so he would get first chance at those they chased.

Brienne knew they would never see the brave guards alive again. 

At the beginning of this journey, she would have been the first one to volunteer to fight. But things were different now. She had people that relied on her in more ways than just the sword at her hip; besides a husband, she had another life to protect, and a future to ensure. She gritted her teeth in frustration, accepting her new duty with dismay. 

Her party watched as their two guards disappeared over the hill, far ahead of those pursuing them. 

Jaime stared at Brienne; a supportive smile appeared, and he said, “I know that was a difficult decision for you, but it was the right choice.”

Pursing her lips, Brienne almost felt herself tear up. Quickly she swallowed her agitation and sorrow. Instead of acknowledging this to him, she ordered, “Come; we must ride.” 

The group trotted out of the village as quickly as possible without attracting attention. Thankfully the ruse worked, for no one came after their party. Once they had cleared the village, they galloped to the area behind Winterfell, aiming for the tallest hill.   
On the map, the location was shown to provide the best vantage point to view the ramparts of the old winter Keep.

*

The weather finally seemed to be cooperating, and the damp, slippery ground proved to be their only worry as they cantered up the back of a hill. Jaime reflected that last nights rain would make a messy battle for Winterfell. At least the low-hanging sun was out, slowly drying the land.

The slight breeze had Jaime checking that they rode downwind from the Keep. Recalling their earlier stop at Winterfell, he thought of those large hounds that had sniffed at his and Brienne’s heels. Frankly, he would rather not alert those temperamental hunting dogs to their presence. 

After ensuring that the sparsely forested hill was safe for them to await the outcome of the attack, they crawled to the edge of the embankment that overlooked the tall walls of Winterfell. From this vantage point, they could see much of the old Keep and the grounds around it. 

A few hundred Bolton sellswords and soldiers occupied the mired grounds in front of the imposing Keep. Ditches had been dug, and additional arms had been given to the men. Most of the men they could see were well into their drinks, talking and laughing with each other. Though it seemed that they were ready for battle, the men did not appear to be taking the situation too seriously.

Jaime counted the soldiers manning the interior ramparts of Winterfell and sighed in relief. From his count, he guessed many of the men had been sent outside with the other able-bodied fighters. The few that manned the ramparts and guard towers appeared bored as they stood sentry above the grounds. Studying what little he could see of the interior parapets, it appeared as if the word had gotten to the Boltons about the Dreadfort. Hastily-made fortifications were being used to shore up areas that had been damaged long ago. 

Focusing on the road to Winterfell, Jaime observed the slow arrival of limping troops trickling in from the south. Taking in their disheveled appearance, he realized that these were men and women who had survived the Dreadfort attack. It was easy to identify them; their faces and clothes were covered with burns and soot. 

There were fewer soldiers than Jaime thought there should be, and he wondered if Celyne’s men had been picking them off along the way.

Thankfully, this meant that there were not as many healthy reinforcements from the Dreadfort to contend with. Jaime hoped that those able-bodied troops would be too exhausted from their rushed journey north to be of much use against Jon’s people.   
Jaime even supposed they would be more of a hindrance than a help when the fighting began.

Jon and his men were still outnumbered, but at least the numbers were nowhere near what they had originally feared. 

Tracking the wounded as they arrived at the closed gates of Winterfell, Jaime saw the sentries indicate the front of the lines. When any of the injured refused to do as order, they were dragged off and forcibly deposited at the front lines.

Sneering, Jaime reflected that no good commander would do this to his men unless the wounded were considered expendable.

“They aren’t accepting anymore wounded inside,” Podrick noted. “Do you think they are being used as shields up front?”

Jaime nodded curtly. “Or as a means of a barricade.”

Sansa sat beside him and pointed at the ramparts, clearly pleased. “With so few guarding the ramparts, it should not be difficult for Jon and your brother to sneak in from the secret tunnel and kill them.”

Instead of answering, Jaime surveyed the land surrounding Winterfell, but he could not see Jon or any of his men. He hoped they had met up successfully with the Northern Clans without any trouble. Glancing up at the sun, as far as he could tell, the attack would occur in a few hours. Now all they could do was wait.

With everything so quiet, Jaime took that as a good sign. He grasped his wife’s hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze. The blue eyes that met his showed courage and strength, but there was also a shimmer of sorrow and guilt in her gaze. He was about to reassure her when he heard a familiar voice echoing up loudly from Winterfell’s courtyard.

Peering down at the Keep, Jaime heard Ramsay and his father arguing loudly with the captain of the guard. He could not see what was happening in the courtyard, but the next thing he knew, a frustrated Ramsay had stomped up the steps and appeared on the ramparts. As he berated a guard on duty, Jaime sneered at the repellant young man. He was such an unpleasant individual, and Jaime did not wish to cross paths with him again if he could help it.

Sansa’s voice cut through his thoughts. “This is good,” she said, watching Ramsay with a vicious smile, “We just might win this.”

*

A few hours later, Jaime stifled a yawn as he eyed Winterfell’s ramparts through the hazy light. Brienne had tried to stay awake, but she had finally succumbed to exhaustion and now lightly snored against Jaime’s shoulder.

Squinting at the low hanging sun that burned through the thin clouds, Jaime heard some rustling nearby and grimaced. It sounded as if Podrick and Sansa were doing more than just resting. He tried to ignore the sounds of kissing and was about to throw a rock at them when movement on the ramparts stopped him. He could not be sure, but he thought he saw his brother’s small, blocky form duck into the shadows against the Broken Tower as a guard marched past. It seemed that his brother and Jon had made it through the secret tunnel to enter the Keep unnoticed after all. 

Sansa and Pod ceased their movements suddenly; Jaime’s sigh of relief must have alerted them to his wakeful presence. They crawled to Jaime’s side and settled down beside him, jostling Brienne awake.

Podrick pointed out a few of Jon’s men at the edges of the forest. They had stayed well hidden, but now and then, one would dart between the trees—just a shadow in the faint light. Jon’s men appeared poised for action, awaiting the signal to charge the gates.

Jaime and the others exchanged glances. The worry now was if Jon and Tyrion could successfully take out enough of the sentries on the ramparts so they could then open the gates unobserved. 

Focusing on the parapets of Winterfell, Jaime’s breath caught when a flash of steel caught the light. The sentry closest to the Broken Tower suddenly seized up and then slumped over. Small hands quickly righted the guard, and he was propped up by his weapon. 

Jaime exhaled the breath he was holding, but he was still tense as he watched his brother emerge from the shadows with Jon by his side. One by one, they took out the lookouts along the ramparts in silence. 

Brienne nudged Jaime and pointed at the outskirts of the Bolton camp. Away from the view of the other soldiers, a Bolton sentry was being strangled by a shadowy figure. When the sentry slumped to the ground, a man stepped out into the waning light. He was disguised as a wounded soldier, and he moved easily among the dozing Bolton troops, unnoticed. 

A string of injured men emerged from the forest behind him and fanned out. Daggers flashed, and more Bolton men fell. It appeared that Jon’s men were methodically making their way to the East Gate to await entry. 

Jaime marveled at how well the Northern Clansmen and the Wildlings worked together. Poor Jon Snow must have had a hell of a time trying to keep the two sides from fighting. It said much for the man’s leadership abilities to get these two warring factions to cooperate with one another.

Jaime grinned. Sneaking up on the guards as wounded men was a good plan; perhaps they would be victorious after all.  
Back on the ramparts of Winterfell, Jon and Tyrion dispensed the guards in discreet silence. No call went up, and soon Tyrion and Jon reappeared above the East Gate. Jaime watched Jon disappear into the courtyard below the gate, leaving Tyrion alone. 

The original plan was to start a fire to draw the attention of the remaining guards, which would allow Jon the chance to rush the gates and open them for his men. Jaime assumed that was still going to happen, but then he knew that when it came to battle, sometimes strategy changed to reflect the best options.

Suddenly, Jaime cursed. He spied Ramsay making his way up onto the ramparts again, walking unwittingly towards Tyrion. Ramsay stopped to speak to one of his men, but when the soldier did not respond, Ramsay reached out and struck him. The man fell at his feet, dead. Ramsay stepped back in surprise and looked around. Jaime feared he might sound the alarm, but Ramsay paused, and a sick smile crossed his features. He had spotted Tyrion, who was too busy trying to light his pile of kindling that he did not notice someone moving in the shadows towards him.

“Careful, brother,” Jaime mumbled aloud.

Ramsay drew closer, his hand resting on the pommel of his blade. Jaime rose to his feet to shout a warning, but Brienne grabbed his arm and held it tight. All he could do was watch helplessly as Ramsay stalked toward the shadow that was Tyrion.


	18. Attack on Winterfell - Part 2

Though only midafternoon, the perpetual low-hanging sun made it appear as if night would occur at any moment. It certainly affected the weather for the wind flurried around the old Keep, the crisp smell of winter permanent in the chilled air. The Bolton soldiers stationed outside the Keep milled around their posts, bored, waiting for the supposed battle from those who wanted to usurp their Lord. 

Though a sort of peace had settled about Winterfell, an undercurrent of oppression and dread still hung in the air.

Possibly, this feeling was due to the mortally wounded soldiers in the courtyard of Winterfell who moaned loudly in pain, their voices carrying over the walls. A cart and donkey waited nearby to take the dead away, and it was already filled with bodies. The few guards in the yard joked loudly in compensation, but still, their nervous gazes continued to dart over to the Dreadfort men who lay dying.

Above and along the ramparts of Winterfell, the wail of the dying did not seem to affect those who guarded the walls. Instead, the soldiers stood ramrod straight or leaned over as if asleep. To those observing without a keen gaze, everything seemed normal. But if one looked closer, they would see that most of those men were dead and propped up by their weapons.

Tucked in a corner on the ramparts and ignoring his surroundings, Tyrion concentrated on trying to get the kindling lit. But no matter how hard he struck his dagger against the flint, he could not get the tinder to ignite. Frustrated, he stood back, attempting to quell his anger. He did not have time for this. Jon was counting on a fiery diversion so he could unbar the main gates undetected and let in their fighters. 

Setting his small shoulders, Tyrion tried again and was pleased when a sudden spark lit the small clump of twigs and horse hair at his feet. Then he frowned when a cold gust of wind extinguished the embers once again. Overcome with irritation, he kicked the whole bloody thing into the nearby pile of straw. He was about to start again when he heard footsteps on the ramparts behind him. 

“Oh, and who do we have here?” asked a cocky voice. “A bite-sized morsel for my dogs, perchance?”

Tyrion flinched. Things certainly were not going as planned.

Putting on his most charming smile, Tyrion slowly pivoted on his heel to face his stalker. He wracked his mind in trying to come up with a suitable rejoinder. He fervently prayed that Jon would grow suspicious as to why there was no distraction and come to his rescue.

Staring up at the man with the brown hair, pale eyes and dangerous smile, Tyrion tried to calm his stuttering heart. “Why, I am… err, um… the entertainment.” Though the man stood alone, the evil that he exuded made Tyrion feel as if he faced a thousand enemies instead.

The man answered smugly, “Are you now, Err Um? Well, I can’t say that I have ever heard of you.” His shrewd gaze studied Tyrion. “And what sort of entertainment do you supply?”

“The best kind.” Tyrion licked his lips nervously. 

The man took a menacing step forward, causing Tyrion to back to the edge of the rampart that faced the courtyard. Though a person of normal size might survive such a fall, Tyrion doubted a man of his stature could do so without at least incurring serious injury. Quickly, he reminded himself who he was and tried to force his fear into bravado. He was a Lannister after all!

Taking on an air of noble disdain, Tyrion stared up at the man in a challenge. “Yes, I was asked by Lord Bolton to supply entertainment for the men.” He waved his hand towards the wounded down below. “There seems to be a bit of a morale issue.” 

The man stopped his advance and frowned. Tilting his head in a comical impression of the hounds that he had threatened to feed Tyrion to, he said, “My father did not inform me of this.”

Tyrion grimaced; he must be speaking to Ramsay Bolton. Keeping up his air of indifference, he said, “Does your father often include you in every small detail of his keep?”

Ramsay was about to answer when his attention was caught by a whiff of smoke rising to his right. The kindling inside the small pile of straw suddenly flared up and small flames licked out of it. 

Tyrion could not help but exclaim, “Well, what do you know, it worked!”

He realized his error when he heard the sound of Ramsay pulling free his blade. “Nice try, little man. Now tell me what is really going on.”

Tyrion watched in apprehension as Ramsay stamped out the small blaze with his boot. 

Studying him, Ramsay said with a sneer, “I seem to recall that the Kingslayer had a dwarf for a brother and that the imp had been horribly maimed at the Blackwater.” The tip of Ramsay’s sword jerked at Tyrion’s nose, and he gulped. 

Ramsay erupted in anger, “Is your family not satisfied with destroying my ancestral home that you must now take this one as well?”

Tyrion jerked in surprise at the reference to the Dreadfort. So that was where all the injured refugees were coming from... He owed Jaime and Brienne a fine cask of wine. Holding back his grin, he watched Ramsay grow red in the face. 

Angrily, they young man pressed the tip of his blade against Tyrion’s chest. As he glanced around, Ramsay asked, “Where is that brother of yours, anyway? If you are here, he must not be far away.”

Tyrion shook his head and answered gravely, “Even if I knew, I would never tell you.”

Ramsay shrugged, and his smile was a grimace. “You’re such a brave little man, aren’t you? Any last words, dwarf?”

“Yes,” said Tyrion, “your foot is on fire.” 

Ramsay glanced down, and Tyrion spun and ran off in the opposite direction. Alas, his small legs did not get him far before Ramsay’s boots pounded behind him. He caught Tyrion by the scruff of his neck and dragged him back along the ramparts. 

“Wait, wait!” Tyrion raised up his hands and tried to loosen the hold around his neck. “My family is very rich. We always pay our debts.”

“I don’t want your money,” Ramsay spat. “I want to see the life drain from your eyes as you bleed out in front of me.” He pulled back his blade to skewer Tyrion. 

Suddenly a dark shape dressed in furs crashed into Ramsay, knocking him face-first onto the wooden boards of the rampart. Jon Snow stood panting over a stunned Ramsay. Tyrion sighed in relief. 

“Get to the gates,” Jon hissed.

“What about the guards?” Tyrion squeaked.

“I will provide the distraction.” Jon pulled forth Longclaw and lunged at Ramsay. The young lord rolled out of the way and scrambled to his feet.

Dabbing at the blood from his cut lip with his sleeve, Ramsay called out to the courtyard, “To me, brothers! Our walls have been breached!”

There was a rallying cry below, and the able-bodied guards raced to either side of the ramparts stairs, cutting off Jon’s and Tyrion’s escape. Tyrion stared at the twenty soldiers that came to their lord’s aid and grimaced. There was no way that Jon could face them all alone and survive.

Jon held Longclaw out in front of him, daring Ramsay to attack first. “Go!” Jon barked to Tyrion.

Soldiers pounded up the steps to their left and surged towards them. Jon swept his blade across their path, causing the men to halt and stumble back. Tyrion dived under their backpedaling feet, taking down a few men and dodging the rest. Staying on the attack, Jon swung at the men, keeping their attention occupied on his sword until Tyrion could get away.

Tyrion did not look back as he ran to the stairs, but he heard the screams and whimpers as Bolton men met the sharp Valyrian steel of Jon’s fearsome blade.

Ramsay’s call to arms seemed to have alerted those outside the East Gates as well. Among the shouts to attack, Tyrion heard the Wildings howling to be let into the confines of Winterfell. There was a loud crash against the wooden door; it sounded as if a body had slammed into the thick gates.

Without another thought, Tyrion limped by the mortally wounded men in the courtyard towards the barred East Gates. A few weak hands grasped for him as he passed, but Tyrion dodged them easily. He circumvented his way around the cart heaped with the dead and approached the gates.

Behind him, he heard hissed curses from those wounded in the courtyard who wanted to stop him. But other than giving a cursory glance at the injured that painfully crawled towards him, he barely acknowledged them as being a threat. Even he could easily outrun them. He only hoped that none became Others anytime soon.

Thankfully, the gate sentries had rushed off to their lord’s aid on the ramparts, and the entrance was left unguarded. Now that he was able to give the gate more than a cursory study, Tyrion saw that there were thick wooden beams propped up on either side of the long bar. He cursed; the wedges appeared to be jammed in tight. 

Before he could even attempt to move them, he heard two pairs of heavy footsteps charging towards his location. A large man with the most ornate epilates Tyrion had ever seen was suddenly blocking his path. Tyrion spat at the man’s feet, irritated that he had been caught unawares yet again. 

Then an out of breath Roose Bolton jogged up to the large man’s side, “Good job, Captain. Time for us to end this little folly.”

He then aimed his shrew gaze at the diminutive man. “Lord Tyrion,” said Bolton snidely, “your father is an old fool to think he can go against me. I shall command the North, and there is nothing he can do to stop me. Grab him!”

Tyrion laughed as he ducked under the outstretched reach of the captain. “I could care less what you think of my father.” 

“Come here, little man.” The captain cursed when Tyrion once more evaded his grasp. 

It never failed that people thought it was so easy to subdue him by simply picking him up. When the captain tried that same move again, Tyrion allowed himself to be grabbed. As he was raised level with the captain’s face, Tyrion’s small fingers suddenly darted out, and he stabbed them into the man’s eyes. 

Screaming in pain, the captain reeled back, trying to shake the small man free, but Tyrion’s grip on the man’s skull was held tight. With more force, Tyrion twisted his fingers harder; digging them in deeper until he was sure it had tickled the captain’s brain.

Shrieking, the captain was finally able to throw Tyrion onto the frozen earth, stunning him. Bleating in agony, the captain pressed his palms over his punctured eyes and tottered down to his knees, and then collapsed onto the ground, unmoving.

Groaning, Tyrion staggered to his feet and reminded himself that this was why he did not like to be picked up.

Suddenly, Roose kicked his boot into Tyrion’s side and knocked him to the ground. Tyrion’s angry bellow ended in a whimper. As Roose pulled back his foot again, Tyrion rolled away. He scrambled for safety under the cart of the dead, out of reach of Roose’s boots. Taking in a painful breath, he briefly registered that a donkey was tethered to the front of the cart. Holding his aching side, Tyrion cursed that he had ever listened to his brother.

*

Hack, slash, parry, and dodge. Again and again, Jon fought; his mind overwhelmed by the sheer amount of men trying to kill him. It seemed that even the wounded had joined Bolton’s call to arms. Though they were pressed in tight, Jon was sure there were more than twenty men on the wall with him. Only the limited space on the ramparts prevented them from overwhelming Jon all at once.

All Jon could do was trust the training that had been drilled into him, to let it take over so he could survive this until help arrived. He was no longer Jon Snow; he was only an extension of Longclaw. Slash and another soldier fell before him. The men still standing shoved the fallen soldier out of their way and he slid over the edge of the ramparts into the courtyard to join the bodies below. 

Still, the soldiers crowded in on Jon, their swords clanging in the tight space. Jon speared a man in the stomach and added it to the pile in the courtyard. The body made a soft, fleshy thump when it landed.

Jon barely acknowledged the screams of his men outside the gates of the Keep. Though his men were outnumbered by the Boltons, he knew they would fight valiantly. He risked a peek over the edge to the battle below, and from his vantage point, Jon saw his men fighting in the camp surrounding the keep. 

He grinned at the sight until he realized the Boltons had gained the upper hand. They had pushed Jon’s men up against the walls of the Keep. Jon cursed their luck and pleaded to the Gods for Tyrion to hurry and open the gates. Tyrion was a clever man, Jon knew. He would find a way. 

Panting, Jon’s arms grew weary from swinging. An enemy blade made it through Jon’s block, and pain burned in a white slash along Jon’s chest. He roared through the agony, but he knew he could not keep up this pace for much longer. 

If he did not keep the soldiers at bay, all would be lost. He swung once more and hacked Longclaw across a soldier’s throat, knocking the man off the rampart in a spray of blood. Another soldier rushed forward to take his place. 

And still, the bodies continued to pile up in the courtyard below.

*

Flies swarmed around the cart of dead soldiers by the East Gate. Tyrion scrunched his nose at the acrid smell of rot and swatted at the air around him. The sound of battle raged on the other side of the gate and on the ramparts above him. Tyrion cursed his luck. He knew he had to open the gates soon, or Jon and countless others would die at the hands of the Bolton’s and their allies.

Suddenly, a long blade thrust down at him through the slats of the cart. Tyrion twisted away, but the blade nicked his right leg.

The cart shifted under the weight of someone moving precariously on top of the dead bodies. Gasping in pain, Tyrion glared up at the slats. Roose Bolton muttered a curse and then drove his blade once more through the bodies and the bottom of the cart.

Dodging the blade just in time, Tyrion grabbed a loose rock and chucked it at the rear of the tethered donkey. Braying indignantly, the animal kicked and cantered off, taking the cart with it. The sudden, jarring movement caused Roose to lose his balance and fall off. Landing hard, he lay crumpled in a dazed heap on the ground.

Tyrion limped quickly to the stunned man and kicked him hard in the head, knocking him unconscious. He was tempted to kill him, but it never hurt to have a valuable hostage on one’s hands.

The noise from the carnage outside grew louder. Tyrion hobbled over to the gates and shoved free the first wedged beam. The action made him bite back a shriek of pain; his ribs ached from Bolton’s earlier kick and blood trickled down his wounded leg.  
Stumbling over to the other wedge, he shoved that one out of the way too. 

Before he could figure out how to reach the heavy bar that rested tight across the gate, he saw that Roose had staggered to his feet and was making his way towards him. Tyrion stumbled back towards the donkey, but the beast brayed angrily and snapped at him. Catching the bridle in his hand, Tyrion placed the donkey between himself and Roose, trying to soothe the animal with a soft murmur. 

Roose laughed and swung his blade, nearly catching Tyrion with the point of his sword. “Hold still, little man.”

Tyrion was getting tired of being reminded of his stature. He smacked the beast on his nose, and the angry donkey suddenly reared, kicking Roose hard in the chest. Roose collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air. 

Turning back to the gate, Tyrion realized that he had no means to reach the heavy bar off of the gate. But failing was not one of Tyrion’s traits. All his life he had been assumed weaker by others because of his size. Taking a breath, he smiled when the donkey nudged against his outstretched hand.

*

Panting and exhausted, Jon barely matched a sword blow with a block of his own. Still, the soldier’s blow was strong enough to knock him backwards, and Jon nearly toppled from the ramparts. He grunted and pulled upon a reserve of energy honed from surviving with the Wildings for so long. 

Jon spun, parried, and then slashed, and his assailant cried out in pain. 

Jon took some satisfaction that it was the soldier who fell dead and not him.

Another man instantly took the soldier’s place and Jon attempted to retreat and buy himself some time. There were just too many of them. ‘Come on Tyrion,’ Jon thought. 

The sound of an angry donkey braying below briefly caught Jon’s attention before Ramsay Bolton darted from between his men.   
Jon barely dodged his advance. Ramsay slunk back behind his men, using them as a shield so he could needle Jon without risk of injury.

“Do you not have any honor?” Jon bellowed at Ramsay. “Stop being a coward and face me like a man! Let us end this now.”

Ramsay tittered and called, “You must think me a fool, Jon Snow.” He shoved two of his men at Jon, causing the Lord Commander to jump back.

Failing to account for the blood that had been spilled under his feet, Jon suddenly slipped. He twisted in mid-fall, ducking just in time as another sword swung at his head. The maneuver caused him to lose his balance, and he fell from the ramparts to the courtyard below.

It was a much shorter fall than he thought it should be. Still, his body landed hard, knocking the breath from him. The ground was soft, and he realized with horror that he had landed on the soldiers who had met his blade earlier. He gasped in a stuttered breath as he gazed into the hollowed stare of a dead man beside him. Desperately, Jon tried to stand, but the bodies gave beneath him and he sunk into the pile of dead and dying. He barely registered the barking laugh from above.

“Where is your honor now, Lord Commander? Well, here have some more.” Ramsay grabbed the soldier nearest him, slit his throat, and tossed him over the edge at Jon.

The man was mortally wounded but still alive. He landed on top of Jon, the dying man’s breath hot against his cheek, his warm blood soaking through Jon’s leathers. Jon gaped like a fish and shoved the man far enough to one side so he could reach up.   
With blood slick hands, he grabbed the first purchase he could find. 

Tugging to pull himself free, Jon had mistakenly yanked on a dead body and it rolled on top of him and the dying man. As if he had set them loose, more bodies fell on top of them. In a near panic, Jon tried to slither away, but the massive weight of the corpses made it too difficult to move. The fear of being crushed to death was overwhelming. Over his thudding heartbeat, Jon could hear the moans and groans of those still alive in the pile of bodies. 

Another body landed on him, and the dim sky above was snuffed out. In total darkness, unable to move from the weight of the dead bodies atop him, Jon was slowly suffocating to death.

*

Releasing the donkey from the cart, Tyrion dodged the beast as it tried to bite his head. “Is this the thanks I get for freeing you?” He ignored the groans coming from the still dazed Lord Bolton.

Evading the next nibble from the donkey, Tyrion tried to lead the upset animal to the barred gate. “Come on you overgrown brat!” Tyrion shouted. “I had a nephew just as obstinate as you, and you would not care to share his same fate!” 

By now, the temperamental donkey was tiring, so Tyrion painfully pulled himself up onto its back. Grabbing onto the donkey’s mane, he nudged the animal’s sides with his heels. Too exhausted to fight, the docile animal allowed Tyrion to steer him closer to the barred gate, and he was finally close enough to reach it.

Tyrion’s side ached from the strain—hell, his whole body was screaming in agony. Still, he managed to put his back into it and lifted the thick bar free. It dropped loudly to the ground. A sense of pride overwhelmed him, but it was short-lived, for the donkey suddenly bucked him off. He landed with a painful “oomph” and lay gazing up at the murky sky.

Before he could curse the beast, he saw Roose Bolton limping closer towards him. He shoved the angry donkey out of his way and once more raised his sword. Tyrion was hurt too much to run, so he began to crawl away. Even wounded, Bolton was faster. 

He stood over Tyrion and nudged his side with his boot. Tyrion rolled over to face him, and Roose pushed him flush to the ground. 

“I will carve you into smaller pieces, little man.”

Defiantly, Tyrion glared up at the arrogant man. “Bigger men than you have tried, and failed.”

Roose raised his blade, his eyes cold. Just then, the gate behind him groaned open and Jon’s men rushed into the courtyard. 

Roose’s swing faltered at the sight of so many men streaming in, weapons at the ready. Without another word, he dropped his arms and retreated into the shadows at the edges of the courtyard, leaping over his wounded men in his panic to get away. 

Tyrion exhaled a breath of relief and then rolled out of the way just in time to miss the heavy footfalls of his comrades. It would not be prudent to be trampled to death when victory was so near.

*

It was difficult for Jon to draw a breath under the pressure of so many bodies. He didn’t register the cheers of the Wildings and Northern Clans as he frantically tried to free himself to no avail. The crushing weight was oppressive, and his vision began to grow gray around the edges. His panicked mind could barely hold control when all he wanted to do was get free. 

There was a slight shift above, and he could suddenly see a small patch of daylight through the darkness. Elbows tight to his frame, he inched his way toward the opening. He panted as spots formed before his eyes from being deprived of oxygen for so long. Finally, his head poked free from the bodies and then one of his arms. He had refused to release Longclaw and now shoved it against a body for leverage. Finally, he was clear, and he tumbled down the small hill, gasping in deep lungful’s of air.

Exhausted and out of breath, he stared dazedly at his surroundings. He cursed when he realized that the ramparts were empty. That bastard Ramsay had somehow gotten away. Around him, Jon heard his men cheering. Had they won?

A scarred face suddenly stared down at him, and he recognized his friend Tyrion. The diminutive man smiled, and it was the best sight Jon had seen in a long time. Tyrion put his hand out to help Jon up. “Come now, Lord Commander. No time to rest.”

Relieved, Jon could not help a hoarse bark of laughter that escaped him. Then he heard the desperate cries coming from the outside, and he staggered to his feet, already giving the command, “Everyone, inside to that safety of the Keep!”

With no time to relax, he and Tyrion rushed back up the ramparts. Already, he dreaded the carnage that awaited him.

*

From their advantage point on the hill, Jaime, and the others watched the battle below in trepidation. Often his hand would squeeze tightly around Brienne’s, and it was certainly a painful grip, but she was too focused on the fighting to notice or care. A few times he had wanted to run down there and help his brother. But when he would coil to spring forth, Brienne held him back. 

Rubbing his arm with her free hand, she hissed at him, “It is hard to stay back, but our duty is here.” And, “You cannot help him, Jaime. Not now.”

Every time she said something, he would only nod distractedly; the feeling of helplessness was overpowering.

He watched as Jon’s men were surrounded and pushed against the Eastern Gate. He grounded his teeth when they valiantly fought back, but there were just too many of Bolton’s men left outside the keep. He cursed silently—it was his fault that there were too many for Jon’s fighters to contend with. Maybe he had been wrong in regards to Lord Wull and his use of poison. Had Jaime known there would be so many fighters left to contend with, he would have made sure every soldier at the Dreadfort had ingested it.

His eyes ratcheted back to the interior of the Keep when he heard his brother cry out in pain. Roose had threatened the donkey, which caused it to rear up. A defenseless Tyrion rolled off and landed hard on the ground. Jaime watched horrified as Roose stalked towards his brother.

If his brother died because he had underestimated Bolton and his men, Jaime would never forgive himself. He could not stop from standing when he saw Roose raise his blade to skewer Tyrion. Before he could yell out, Roose faltered in his swing.

The Eastern Gate opened. Jaime joined the others in crying with relief as Jon’s men stormed into Winterfell, leaving Bolton’s troops outside. After most of the men had hurried in, the thick wooden gates slammed shut against the Bolton troops. 

In mere moments, a triumphant Jon Snow reappeared on the ramparts, Tyrion beside him. He signaled one of his archers and a flaming arrow was launched at the large flag of the flayed man that hung from the main hall of Winterfell. The Bolton’s family crest was set ablaze, and it burned until it blew free from the battlements to land in a heap of smoldering fabric. Jaime swore that their deafening cheers could be heard all the way to King’s Landing itself. 

Beside him, Brienne looked as tense as Jaime felt. He could tell that she was chomping at the bit to join the fight, and he could not blame her. 

With his brother safe, Jaime focused on the battle that raged outside the gates. The Wildings and Clansmen who remained behind enemy lines fought bravely, but Jaime knew they would not have long to survive. He wished there was something they could do to help them.

Furthermore, he realized that the majority of Bolton’s troops were regrouping a fair distance away at the back of the lines.

Smartly, those soldiers were making sure to stay far enough away so no arrows could reach them. As their numbers grew, Jaime pursed his lips. With so many enemies still alive, there was no way his small group could get past those soldiers and into Winterfell. 

While he was trying to figure out a means to gain entry to the Keep without losing their heads, Lady Sansa yelled, “It’s Bolton!”   
Her finger shook as it pointed at a group of seven men on horseback riding away from the keep. 

Squinting at the man leading the party, Jaime thought it was Ramsay Bolton, but then realized from the lack of hair that it was the father instead. He frowned, wondering how they had gotten past Jon’s men. They must have been too busy securing the Keep to keep an eye on all the gates, allowing Bolton and his men to slip out.

Jaime sneered in anger. He would not allow Roose Bolton to escape. They had come too far and had lost too many to allow that man a chance to rally once more to his cause. 

Springing up, Sansa growled, “He cannot get away!” 

As Roose and his escorts cantered off, Jaime studied the circuitous route that they were taking. At first, Jaime believed it was so that he could escape to the town unscathed, but when they instead headed towards the outskirts of the Keep, it became apparent that Roose was taking the long way around to regroup with his remaining troops outside the East Gate.

As Bolton’s party began to angle around, Jaime spat out, “No! He’s trying to get to his men.” 

It also appeared that the rider’s course would take them in front of the hill they were currently hiding on. A plan began to form as to how they might use to Roose to end this war.

Before Jaime could say anything, Sansa yelled, “No! I won’t allow it!” 

Sansa shoved Podrick out of her way. She ran up to her horse and began to hoist herself up into the saddle. Brienne leaped up, calling out, “My lady, no!”

Brienne grabbed the bridle just before Sansa could ride off. She yanked down hard on the reins, which caused Sansa’ horse to wicker in agitation. As Sansa tried to wrestle the reins from Brienne, she cried out, “He must be stopped! Jon needs our help!”

“Not at the risk to you, my lady.”

Sansa wrung her hands against the reins. “Yes, it is worth the risk to me.”

Jaime was already hoisting himself up onto his saddle, “There is no time to argue with her, wife. I doubt she would stay behind anyway, and we need to intercept Bolton before he can get to his men. Come on!” 

Surprised, Brienne released the bridle, and Sansa nudged her horse and rode off. The others quickly followed suit, Jaime leading the charge. Brienne groaned in frustration and heaved herself into her own saddle. She kicked her horse’s flanks, riding hard to catch up with them.

Jaime thought if they angled it just right, they could cut off Roose’s escape to his soldiers. He galloped down the hill. He heard Brienne closing the distance between them. Her low guttural urgings to her horse had her racing past Sansa’s steed and gaining on his. A feral grin spread across Jaime’s features, it matched the grimace of determination on Brienne’s. Another hard kick and soon he and Brienne were charging side by side, closing in on Roose Bolton below. 

Alas, it was only a matter of time before their descent down the hill would be spotted. Jaime saw one of Bolton’s guards pointing in their direction. 

If Bolton and his men veered towards the Keep, they risked being in the range of Winterfell’s archers. If they continued to the gate, they would meet Jaime and Brienne head on. 

Taking one look at the duo’s fearsome visage, Bolton pivoted his horse and raced towards the safety of Winterfell’s town instead. 

Snarling, Jaime kicked his horse’s flanks again, but they could not overcome the smaller, faster horses. Trailing behind Roose’s party, they chased him into the town. 

The unpaved main street was empty except for a few villagers and Bolton sellswords that ambled across the muddy road. They sprang out of the way as the group of riders bore down on them. 

A desperate Roose kicked his horse to hurry, but the young mare was slowed down by the churned up mire of the muddy road.   
Bypassing the worst of it, Jaime and Brienne gained on Bolton.

Jaime recognized the area as they charged past the Porker’s Sterne. He ignored the curious patrons who exited the tavern to see what all the commotion was about.

Pleased, Jaime saw that the muck hindered the smaller horses to the point where he and Brienne were able to cut off Bolton’s means of escape.

Roose’s horse reared, and he was nearly thrown from his spooked steed. Finally getting it under control, he found himself boxed in when Sansa and the others closed in behind them. Bolton’s six escorts, swords drawn, pushed forward to protect their lord. 

Behind the wall of his men, Roose Bolton sneered at Jaime and Brienne. “Why, if it isn’t the Lion and his Paw.”

Podrick and the two remaining guards drew their weapons and slowly advanced. Instead of appearing worried, Roose’s grin became calculating as he studied Sansa behind them. “Ah, just who I need to retake Winterfell back from Snow.” 

“Actually, that’s what we had in mind for you,” said Jaime. “A perfect hostage to end this battle.” 

Pulling free his weapon, Roose ordered his guards, “Grab the girl!” As his men turned to charge at Sansa, Roose pivoted to attack Jaime. 

“Defend Lady Sansa!” Brienne cried. She unsheathed Oathkeeper and nudged her horse towards Bolton’s men. Podrick and the two guards converged protectively around Sansa, who pulled free a dagger and brandished it wildly. 

With a mighty roar, Brienne swung her blade at one of Bolton’s soldiers. The man tried to block her blow, but the strength of her arm and the sharpness of Oathkeeper’s blade were too much. The soldier’s blade shattered beneath the blow, and Oathkeeper lodged deep in the man’s armored shoulder. In a breath, Brienne pulled her sword free and thrust it through the man’s neck. She turned her horse to help Podrick and the guards to take on the remaining men, leaving Jaime to contend with Bolton. 

As the four fought back Bolton’s guards, Jaime shielded Brienne’s back by attacking Roose. Widow’s Wail clashed soundly against Bolton's sword. Though Jaime was fighting with his left hand, his blade seemed to sing with every movement. 

Behind him, he heard one of Bolton’s soldiers pained grunt from a sword thrust and his periphery, saw that Brienne had hacked the man practically in half. Podrick and the two other guards killed two more men, thus leaving only two to deal with. Sansa kept another at bay, waiting for her guards to finish the man off.

Grinning, Jaime drew his blade back for another slash. Bolton’s horse suddenly crowded his, and Jaime’s leg was pinched between the two beasts. Gasping in pain, he tried to get free, but he had to defend Bolton’s next swing.

Roose smirked and crashed his sword into Jaime’s, knocking it to the side. Before Jaime could draw back, Bolton grabbed Jaime’s leg and yanked it upwards. Unbalanced, Jaime tried to hook the pummel of his saddle with his stump. The leather was cold and slippery against his arm, and Jaime faltered, tumbling from his horse to the hard ground below. Momentarily stunned, he shifted to his knees and wiped the blood from a minor cut on the side of his head. 

Bolton sneered down at him. “That is how I remember you, Lannister, groveling at my feet and covered in mud.” Triumphant, he turned to attack Brienne’s unprotected back. She was busy running Oathkeeper through one of the remaining soldiers to protect her flank.

As Jaime screamed a warning to his wife, one of Sansa’s guards placed himself between them and took the brunt of Bolton’s slash. He cried out and fell from his horse, dead. Cursing, Bolton tried again. 

Desperately, Jaime lurched to his feet and shoved the side of Bolton’s horse with enough force to move the beast to the side.   
The horse spooked and reared, and Bolton’s swing just missed the back of Brienne’s head. 

Podrick blocked a last soldier’s attack, which enabled Brienne to twist in her saddle and kick Bolton’s horse back. Pod dispatched that second soldier with a quick swing of his blade, and the man slumped in his saddle. 

Bolton swung again, and this time, Brienne met his blade with the full force of her own. His fingers tingled at the ferocity of the hit and his sword dropped from his numb grasp. In shock, he stared at Brienne and gulped loudly.

There was something about her cold blue eyes that had Roose briefly reeling and instinctively backing his horse away. He also did not like that she kept glaring at his right hand.

Brienne was about to chop him in two, but Jaime yelled out, “No, Brienne, we need him alive to take back the Keep!” 

Scowling, she slid from her horse and quickly jerked Roose off from his saddle. Before he could lurch to his feet, she kicked Roose hard in the stomach. She had to take a few steps back, her hands shaking from rage.

Bolton gasped for air and Jaime quirked a grin at Brienne, which only slightly mollified her. 

Nearby, Sansa and the others relaxed, and the young woman smiled and whispered to Podrick how brave he had been.

Before Jaime could approach Brienne and her prisoner, he realized that the commotion had attracted a small audience. Villagers had gathered in the street outside their business and homes, and the Porker’s Sterne tavern had emptied. 

Jaime recognized one of the witnesses as Tom O’Sevens. He nearly laughed when he saw that the minstrel’s eye was swollen shut, no doubt due to last night’s brawl. He wondered what the bard would make of this. But before Jaime could feel victorious, ten heavily armed men with swords drawn raced towards them from down the street. “Release our lord, now,” they demanded.

Brienne faced the soldiers and raised her sword, her teeth bared threateningly at them. She was about to attack when more armed Bolton sellswords raced out of the Porker’s Sterne. Jaime counted over fifteen heavily armed men against the five of them, with even more arriving. 

“Don’t try it,” One soldier warned Brienne. 

Glancing between his men and the smaller group, Bolton leered at Brienne and stood. He pivoted suddenly and kicked Jaime to his knees. Before Brienne could turn to defend him, Roose had grabbed his discarded sword and had it pointed at Jaime’s neck.

Jaime raised his arms in surrender. He heard Brienne growl out a warning, Oathkeeper at the ready. Pod shifted nervously in front of Sansa, the two guards on either side of her watching Bolton’s men warily.

“You had better give up, my lady.” Roose told Brienne, “or your husband will be killed before you can even reach me.”

Reluctantly, Brienne dropped her blade. The others in her party followed suit. As Bolton’s men grabbed Brienne’s arms, more closed in on Lady Sansa and her group, tugging them off their horses. Podrick tried to fight back but a soldier hit on the back of the head with the pommel of his sword. Pod fell unconscious to the ground, and Sansa gasped. 

The soldier raised his blade at Podrick’s neck.

Brienne screamed, “No!” just as Sansa flung herself protectively over the young man. 

The surprised soldier glanced over at Bolton, who shook his head. The man nodded and instead yanked Sansa to her feet. As she struggled in his grasp, she spat at Roose. “You are a blight upon the North, my lord.”

He only chuckled in reply.

Once their weapons had been confiscated, Roose Bolton studied his new prisoners. “Thank you all for your cooperation,” he said coldly. “Things will go so much easier now.”

And with a brisk motion of his hand, the remainder of his men closed in.


	19. Fight For the North

In the middle of a muddy street in Winterfell’s town, Sansa glowered defiantly at the sellswords who had barred her escape.   
Next to her, Podrick sat on the ground and gazed dazedly about, blood still oozing from the head wound he’d received earlier from one of Bolton’s guards. Sansa’s last personal guard stood strong beside her, but he was weaponless and outnumbered.   
The sellswords around them were heavily armed and more of them were dashing down the street toward Sansa and her group.  
Some had taken it upon themselves to keep the growing crowd of curious onlookers, back.

Nearby, Brienne cursed under her breath and struggled against a sellsword’s strong hold. The threat of raised weapons surrounded them, but still her innate stubbornness compelled her not to give up.

“Stop.” Roose Bolton growled at Brienne. “You are outnumbered, unarmed and far from home.” 

His harsh words finally broke through the haze of determination and she stopped wrestling against the sellsword’s hold. She glared at Lord Bolton as he ordered Oathkeeper and Widow’s Wail to be confiscated and brought to him.

Beside her, Jaime had already ceased fighting, wanting to save his strength. He could not believe that they had come so far, only to be at the mercy of the enemy once again. Memories of being captured by Brave Companions came back to him and he had to hold back a bark of angry mirth at the irony.

Jaime’s eyes met Brienne’s concerned blue ones and he tried to reassure her with a cocky smile. She shook her head slightly, and the sadness in her gaze was nearly his undoing. 

Lifting up Oathkeeper to study it, Bolton sneered at Brienne, “Nice blade.” He held the sword out before him, and Brienne was gratified to see his arm shaking under Oathkeeper’s weight. She grinned when he lowered it. With two hands he passed the sword to one of his soldiers with the gruff command, “Hold these for me.” The man reached out and took Oathkeeper and Widow’s Wail from Bolton’s grasp.

Bolton sauntered closer to the prisoners, his gaze shrewd. Standing in front of Lady Sansa, he grinned. “You thought you could take me prisoner, my lady? So foolish, but then, you are young.” She glared at him and his smile grew fierce. “I am sure that my son Ramsay can make a proper woman out of you.” He grabbed her chin to examine her and smirked at her defiant glare.

“Leave Lady Sansa be!” Brienne struggled once more against her captor’s hold, and Bolton turned his attention to her.

Sneering, Bolton approached Jaime and Brienne and spat, “I should have killed you two back at Harrenhal. You Lannisters are nothing but trouble.”

Ignoring the outraged man before them, Jaime’s attention was caught by the growing crowd of commoners around them. Had it been his imagination, or had someone whispered the Stark name reverently from the back of the growing crowd? Jaime blinked in disbelief as others joined the hushed murmur. 

Their low, fervent tones brought a scowl to Lord Bolton’s face. On his signal, Bolton’s men began to fan out in that direction. 

One bold onlooker in the crowd asked, “That’s Lady Sansa Stark?” 

The crowd quickly quieted when a sellsword pushed through the horde looking for the speaker.

The onlookers sounded so buoyant that Jaime realized there must be Stark loyalists still in the town. As more commoners approached the outskirts of the crowd, they seemed to be talking animatedly to one another.

Wanting to gauge the audience, Jaime loudly admonished Bolton, “That is no way to treat the Lady Sansa Stark, the true Warden of the North!”

He was relieved when the villagers in the back became excited and conversed loudly to one another. One motioned a passerby over and spoke quietly to him. That man quickly looked over at Sansa, nodded and darted off.

Hope blossomed in Jaime’s chest. If he could buy them more time, maybe enough loyalists would arrive to overwhelm Bolton’s supporters. 

Unfortunately, Jaime’s declaration caused Bolton to study Jaime closer, his look calculating. “I am sure your father would pay me well for you a second time, my lord. He might even pay me for your ugly wife. Though I think, perhaps, I would gain more by simply nailing your skins to the walls of Winterfell as payment for what you did to my ancestral home.” 

He menaced towards Jaime, reaching for his blade. But before Bolton could go through with his threats, Ser Boros Blount pushed suddenly through the crowd, his six men close behind him. Instantly, Bolton’s men were on edge, and they protectively stood in front of their lord, who scowled at the interruption. 

Boros chuckled when he saw Brienne and Jaime under guard. “After you left town so quickly, I was worried we might have lost you.” Boros nodded to Bolton, “Thank you for catching them, my lord. We will take them off your hands now.”

“What is going on here?” Bolton demanded.

“Nothing to fear, my lord, I am one of the King’s emissaries. As a representative to the Hand,” Boros nodded at the Lannisters, “I have been granted permission to haggle for their release, should the need arise.”

“Your lord tried to destroy me. I refuse to acknowledge him as the Hand ever again,” Bolton sniped.

Boros vehemently shook his head. “I assure you that the Hand had nothing to do with the destruction of the Dreadfort.” He tipped his head toward Brienne and Jaime again. “That was a private venture on their part.” Boros sneered at the Lannisters. “And I assure you that the Hand will punish them accordingly.” 

Brienne lunged forward, “Where are our men?”

Boros considered her and shrugged. “They put up a good fight, but to no avail. At least their lies tricked those bounty hunters into disappearing south.” Boros turned his attention back to Bolton, “Now let us work out a deal. What do you want?”

Bolton’s finger shook in rage as he pointed it at Jaime and Brienne. “They destroyed the Dreadfort! No amount of money can replace my ancestral home!”

The crowd around Boros and his men began whispering amongst themselves. Jaime could not help his smile as the rumor of what he and Brienne had done rippled through the crowd. “It was the Lannisters who destroyed the Dreadfort,” one man hissed to another. Soon, the mob was buzzing with the news. 

Jaime caught sight of the bard, Tom O’Sevens, standing near the door of the tavern, and he wondered how long it would be before Tom had a new song to sing.

Ignorant of the whispers, Bolton snapped to Boros, “I advise you to leave before I skin you, too!”

Boros leaned over and peered down at Bolton, his bulky frame intimidating in his white and gold Kingsguard armor. “But I am sure we can work out a deal, my lord.” Though they were outnumbered by Bolton’s sellswords, Boros stood strong and warned, “You do not want the King or the Hand to turn their attention to the North.” 

The ex-Warden scoffed and then thought better of it when Boros added, “It would not be difficult for the King to assemble an army to come up here and deal with this… mess.” 

His words had the desired effect and after a moment, Bolton dipped his head at Boros. He would listen to the man’s offer.

Jaime called out to the crowd, “I say, does no one think it wrong that this man skins innocents? Wouldn’t you prefer someone who—?”

“Shut up, Lannister!” Bolton smacked the back of Jaime’s head hard enough to nearly knock him to the ground. Outraged, Brienne lunged forward but was grabbed just before she could reach Bolton. 

“Do that one more time,” she growled to Bolton, “and I swear it is not your hand that I will come after.”

Bolton clutched his right hand and scowled at her. Over his shoulder, he said to Blount, “You may have them, but at my price.”   
He smirked at Brienne. “Maybe it is your own hand that you should be worried about, my lady.” He chuckled, his eyes cold. “Then you two could be twins. Yes, you lost the company of one twin, Ser Jaime, why not gain another?” 

He pivoted on his heel and said to Boros, “That will be payment for destroying the Dreadfort. If I am denied their skins, then I want her hand. The right one. Now.”

Bolton snapped his fingers and two of his men pushed forward. Jaime struggled against his captor, shouting at Boros to stop them. Brienne tried to wrench her arms from the sellsword holding her. It took two of Bolton’s men to raise Brienne’s right arm up in the air before her. Another man handed Oathkeeper to Bolton, and Brienne tensed. Still, Boros stood by and watched. Oathkeeper’s blade flashed in the wintery light. 

“You cannot allow this!” Jaime bellowed as Brienne fought frantically against the men holding her. 

It was the Bloody Mummers all over again, only this time, Jaime could not cry sapphires to save her. “My father will have your head!” he shouted. “And yours, too, Blount! All of you!”

Boros shook himself and looked over at Jaime. “No, of course.” He cleared his throat and turned to Bolton, his hands raised before him. “My lord, you are upset, but the Hand would not allow such an injustice against his own daughter-in-law.”

Bolton laughed at the warning as he eyed the large man before him. His gaze settled on Boros’ hands and he stated coolly, “In that case, maybe I shall take yours instead. I should make my family’s new predilection to collect the hands of our enemies instead of their skins.” He glanced pointedly at his sellswords who stood behind Boros and they stepped forward, closing off any chance of escape. 

The threat was not lost on Boros, but before he could even draw his weapon, one of his own men stepped forward in front of Brienne. He gestured to Oathkeeper in Bolton’s grasp. “No need for that, my lord, I’d be happy to chop off the big bitch’s hand for you.” 

Furious, Brienne finally managed to wrench one of her arms free, and she swung at the man, who tripped back just in time.   
Shoving the sellswords aside, Boros’ men swooped in and quickly restrained her. 

“You will pay, scum, all of you will.” Brienne growled through clenched teeth.

The man only laughed and pulled free his dagger. “This might take longer, but it will certainly be more fun.”

Jaime fought harder to get at Brienne as Boros’ loud voice boomed, “Everyone stop!” 

The group paused and stared at the large man.

Glaring hotly, Boros turned to Bolton. “My lord, there must be something else that would appeal to your kindness. There is much gold, Lannister gold—all you could want as payment.” His gaze became calculating, and he purred at Bolton dangerously, “And my lord, you best take this offer. You do not want the King to declare you an enemy of the realm.”

Bolton narrowed his eyes at the threat, but finally relented, “Fine you may take them. But I expect their weight in gold as payment for my leniency.”

Nodding, “You have a deal, my lord.” Boros then ordered his men, “Get the horse’s ready.” As two of his soldiers dashed off, he commanded to the others, “And bind the Lannisters so they cannot escape this time.” He sneered at Jaime and Brienne, “We certainly don’t want the bloodlust to overtake Lady Brienne again.”

As two of Blount’s men tied him up, Jaime heard Brienne’s grunt of pain when the other guards tightened the ropes that encircled her arms. Jaime had a feeling their behavior was due to their run in earlier in the morning. 

His suspicions were confirmed when Blount chorused amused to his men, “Make sure the cords are tight. I rather like my ears.”

Seeing how uncomfortable his wife was, Jaime growled to them, “Loosen the ropes, you cowards. You call yourselves men, more like overgrown, spoiled children.”

Boros was suddenly in Jaime’s face. “Your loose tongue might soon find itself cut out if you are not quiet.”

“And you would be a wise man to learn who not to make an enemy of,” Jaime said, low enough for only Boros to hear.

Boros sneered and then addressed his men, “Do as Lord Jaime says and loosen her bonds.”

When Boros took in Jaime’s sudden cocky smile, he said, “It will be a long trip, my lord. Best if you remember that many accidents can happen along the way.” He threatened quietly, “Dangers that could prove problematic to a pregnant woman.”

Jaime lunged but was held back by the guards nearest him. Boros chortled and Jaime knew they had to get away now.   
Desperately, he glanced around, looking to the crowd to gauge how they were faring.

The area was swelling with people, and more were arriving by the minute. Jaime observed that many in the back carried sharp farm implements and those new arrivals began to push through the throng towards the front. They appeared to be the farmers and regular small folk and Jaime smiled. Surely most would be Stark loyalists. The better news was that they were starting to outnumber the Bolton sellswords that crowded in front. 

As they waited for the horses to be retrieved, Jaime growled to Bolton, “You are a fool to think you will win this. A Lannister always pays his debts.”

“And a Bolton always collects with interest.” Grinning, Roose thought a moment, and then asked Boros, “Before you go, a question. If I cannot have their skins, what about his brother’s, Tyrion? I assume the Hand doesn’t want that one back.”

A quiet laugh was heard as Boros said, “No, not that one.” He grew smug, both men now watching Jaime for his reaction, “And since Tyrion abandoned his post at the Wall, he is considered a traitor and should be put to the sword.”

“No! My father would want him spared.” Jaime’s argument fell on death ears. Though worried about repercussions against his wife and unborn child on their journey to Casterly Rock, Jaime vowed he would make Boros suffer if anything happened to Tyrion.

Grabbing Jaime’s arm, Boros sneered, “You cannot save your brother, this time, my lord.” 

Nodding, satisfied, Bolton grinned. “Good, I will skin him into a small rug for my privy.”

A desperate Jaime was once more looking to appeal to the crowd when Boros hissed in his ear, “Behave or I will hamstring your wife.”

A feeling of dread overcame Jaime and he quickly nodded in acquiescence. They had run out of time, and Jaime hoped that the Stark loyalists would act soon.

When the horses arrived, Boros signaled his men to mount up. Wrestling against the soldiers pull, Brienne demanded to Bolton, “But what of Lady Sansa?”

With a shrug, he answered disinterestedly, “Why, she is to marry my son, Ramsay.”

The crowd began whispering at the news, and they heard a woman cry out, “The poor girl!” 

Another exclaimed, “No! Haven’t the Starks suffered enough?”

As Jaime and Brienne struggled against being put on the horses, an indignant Sansa called out suddenly, “Lord Bolton, how do you hope to reclaim Winterfell, when my brother Jon has control of it?”

The murmurs from the villagers increased and Jaime heard someone hiss excitedly, “Bolton no longer controls Winterfell.” As the mutters spread outwards, the change in the crowd’s demeanor was palpable.

Unconcerned by the changing mood, Bolton replied to her smartly, “Why it is simple, my lady. Threatening you shall get me in. I know your brother would gladly give it all up to save you.”

One of the farmers in the back japed, “What sort of Warden are you if you can’t hang onto your keep?” 

The man disappeared into the thickening crowd before one of Bolton’s sellswords could find him. 

The rising menace of the crowd was spooking the horses and Jaime and Brienne added to the difficulty of being placed on the horses by fighting back. 

Lady Sansa’s raised her voice to be heard over the din of the villagers, “Lord Bolton, I think it should be up to the people of the North to decide who is to be their Warden.” 

A few villagers shouted her name. It seemed that as the strength of their support grew, so did her confidence.

As Bolton glared at their audience, his grip on her arm tightened cruelly. “Enough, my lady. They would never accept a mere girl to rule them.” 

Turning to the growing crowd, Sansa pleaded, “Please, you know in your hearts that this man must be stopped. He is a traitor to the North! The Dreadfort is destroyed and Winterfell is under control of my brother. Bolton has no claim here except by his name! And we already know how trustworthy that is. Give me a chance to lead you—your Warden should be a Stark.”

The Stark loyalists grumbled louder in Sansa’s favor, and when Bolton gauged their traitorous words, his confidence started to ebb. 

Ignoring Jaime and Brienne, Bolton nodded to his men, and they began to hustle Sansa, her lone guard and the groggy Podrick out of the crowd. 

As they approached the edge of the gathering, the villagers behind them barred their way. A large man in a bloody apron and holding a butcher's cleaver blocked their path. Bolton’s sellswords rushed forward to shove him out of the way but stopped when more armed small folk came forward to stand tall beside the man. Behind them, the mass of people had grown to the point where they easily outnumbered the Bolton sellswords.

Stunned, Bolton did not move, and his men pressed in protectively around him. 

The butcher’s low voice rumbled, “Release the Lady Sansa.” He motioned and armed supporters menaced forward to stand in front of the sellswords.

Sansa heard Bolton bellow a threat, but the oppressed villagers had had enough of Bolton's reign of terror. Overwhelmed by the masses, Roose Bolton and his band of sellswords didn’t stand a chance. 

Though surrounded by irate commoners, Bolton’s men attempted to cow the menacing crowd through intimidation. They raised their weapons threateningly at the crowd. Suddenly, a large rock sailed through the air and hit one of Bolton’s men. The man collapsed on the ground in a heap. 

The crowd cheered and Bolton’s men looked to their lord for instructions. They were surrounded, and the crowd was now armed and dangerous. 

Sansa gasped in surprised happiness. More loyalists protectively surrounded her and their shouts of support were a balm to her tired soul. Several farmhands moved forward to the front of the crowd and waved shovels and pitchforks at the sellswords.

She addressed Bolton’s men, her voice rising over the angry mob that converged on the traitorous Warden, “I advise all of you to give up. If you do so, you will not be harmed.”

Proving they were only for hire, the sellswords hastily dropped their weapons and raised their hands in surrender. Instantly, they were pulled away from Lord Bolton. The small folk confiscated their weapons and distributed them throughout the mob.   
As Bolton was roughly grabbed by the crowd, he yelled, “My loyal men will rise and—” 

But a derisive laugh from one of the villagers cut Bolton off. “The few soldiers you have left seemed to be preoccupied in laying siege to Winterfell.” His flippant response caused the others massing around them to jeer and hoot in response. 

As Bolton struggled, one of the villagers raced up with a rope. “Time to hang the bastard!” With a cheer, the crowd began to drag Bolton away. 

Lady Sansa called out, “Stop! Stop this now!”

The crowd was full of bloodlust and, at first, do not listen to her. She then raised her voice and, in a tone of authority, commanded, “That is enough! He is needed to stop his remaining soldiers from storming Winterfell. Once we have it back, he will be judged. I promise you that justice will be served, but only then.”

Struggling in their tight grasp, Bolton sneered, “I am sure it will be an honest trial.”

“Fairer than what I have heard you give them,” Sansa bit back, and Bolton wisely kept quiet.

After checking on Podrick, Sansa surveyed the situation. Victorious, the small folk were celebrating their freedom with enthusiastic hugs and claps on the back, while others danced and celebrated in joy. The voices of the people were rising; they were chanting for her. Sansa ignored them, looking for her two most ardent protectors. 

At last she saw them; Jaime and Brienne had been under Boros’ control. Now due to the angry mob, Boros was no longer trying to place them on horses. Instead he was now trying to shove them past the small folk that blocked their way.

She frowned when she saw Boros slip one of the farmers a small bag of coins. Nodding, pleased, he motioned for the crowd to let the Kingsguard past. Furious, Sansa watched as Boros’ men began to manhandle the Lannisters through the crowd. 

Sansa tried to push through her throng of admirers, but the cheering commoners were packed too tightly around her.   
Frantically, she hollered at the retreating group, “Halt!” But they could not hear her over the enthusiastic din of the crowd.

A desperate Jaime cried out to those they passed, “We have been tasked to protect Lady Sansa by her brother, Jon Snow!” 

One of the common folk volleyed back, “Sure you are! It is a known fact that Lannisters twist the truth to suit their gain.”

Boros spoke low to his charge, “Save your breath, my lord.”

Brienne dug in her heels and pleaded to those surrounding them, “It’s true! Please believe us!”

Gauging the bloodthirsty crowd, the farmer grumbled to Boros, “Best leave now while you are able.”

“Yeah, they’re lucky we ain’t stringin’ them up for killing King Stannis!” Shouted someone in the crowd.

With the help of the large butcher, Sansa broke through the crowd and commanded, “All of you, stop!” As the small folk blocked Boros’ men from continuing, Sansa demanded to the farmer, “What is going on, here?”

The farmer only appeared guilty for a moment before answering, “They are Lannisters, my lady.” He nodded at the Jaime and Brienne. “Only trouble comes from trusting them.” 

“I disagree. Release them,” Sansa commanded.

Boros rumbled threateningly at her, “You are making a mistake, my lady. You do not want to run ill of the Hand.” 

Sansa glared up at the imposing man, remembering all too well what a bully he had been to her back at King’s Landing, and she sneered, “As are you for coming up here where you do not belong. Now release them.”

The worried butcher tried to get her to change her mind, “Maybe he is right, my lady. You do not want to call attention to the King. If he sends troops—” 

“Do I not have the final say in this?” Sansa peevish tone caused the large man’s eyes to cast downwards. “Am I not the true Warden of the North? Or is that a role you think you deserve instead?”

Sheepishly, the butcher and farmer took a step back. But the commoners around them stared at her expectantly. Clearing her throat, Sansa addressed everyone there. “I understand your worry, but these are good people.”

“How can you defend them, my lady? They are just as traitorous as the Bolton’s. They plotted the murder of your mother and King Robb.” 

“Not to mention King Stannis. They will turn on you as well.”

“I assure you that though they carry the Lannister name, they are not responsible for my family’s strife. Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime took it upon themselves to make amends. If not for them, I would still be a fugitive, or worse, dead. I owe a debt of gratitude to them that supersedes any link to culpability, and as your Warden, you will accept them as you do my rule.”

Still her subjects did not appear convinced, so she continued, “You have heard that the Dreadfort has been destroyed.” She watched as the crowd nodded their heads brusquely. “This was due to the courageous actions by the Lannisters. They risked all to infiltrate that impregnable Keep to raze it to the ground. If they had not done so, it would have been impossible to free you from Bolton’s yoke. For without those Bolton reinforcements, my brother was able to lay siege to Winterfell and take it back in the Stark name.”

Eyes turned to Jaime and Brienne, and both stood taller. Sansa continued, “Even before all that, they had worked tirelessly, fulfilling their vow to my late mother, Catelyn Stark, to keep me safe. Their bravery and honor are why I am standing here before you alive and ready to take my rightful place as your protector, the true Warden of the North. They deserve your praise, not your condemnation.”

The crowd murmured and looked to one another questioningly. One woman yelled out from the crowd, “I heard they poisoned the women and children at the Dreadfort. That proves what cowards they are!” The crowd jeered at the Lannisters once again.

As Sansa pondered what to say, Brienne stepped forward, her head bowed in guilt. As she confessed, her voice quivered with anguish. “We can never be forgiven for that, and we know it. But we honestly tried to save as many as we could.” In the end, her voice cracked from sorrow.

Jaime nodded, “My wife speaks the truth. We did do our best, but you must understand that at times of war, everyone suffers, and not everyone can be spared. Though it pains us that innocents died, it was a necessary deed to save us all.” 

The crowd's mutters intensified; some tones were angry, but most still sounded hesitant. 

Someone nearby piped in, “Anyone living at the Dreadfort was loyal to the Boltons and deserved to die. You all know that they cannot be trusted. They’d have turned on us the second they could.”

The words seemed to help quell the masses; most nodded their heads in acceptance.

Sansa shook her head at those before her and decried, “We can no longer view one another as the enemy. What happened to the innocents at the Dreadfort could not be helped, but that should not stop us from coming together. The only way the North can be strong again is if we all are united as one.”

Jaime was curious as to why Sansa had not specifically mentioned Lord Wull’s culpability in the Dreadfort poisoning. He almost said something but figured that now was not the best time to bring derision into the mix. It certainly would go against Lady Sansa’s wish to pull everyone together as one.

Sansa once more pointed to Jaime and Brienne. “The Lannisters are the true heroes to the North. And they have risked much to bring me back where I justly belong. They deserve to be free just as I do.” She then placed a hand on each of the Lannisters’ shoulders and the crowd shouted their support.

Surging forward, the villagers pushed Boros and his men aside and swarmed around Jaime and Brienne. 

When the butcher approached them, cleaver raised, Jaime and Brienne both tensed. They relaxed when the kitchen tool was only used to cut their bonds. 

Now freed, the populace hailed and parted ways for the Lannisters to pass. Jaime noticed that Boros and the others had slunk away to meld into the crowd. Though tempted to seek retribution, Jaime let them go. One day in the future, when he had more time, he would remind Boros of the payment he was due. 

He was awoken from his revelry when he heard Sansa address the exuberant crowd before her, “Now let’s go make the North strong again! To Winterfell!” 

She raised her fist in the air, and the crowd chorused as one, “To Winterfell!”

As the Stark loyalists tied up the seething Lord Bolton, Jaime nodded to Brienne. With a loud exhale, he stated, “We might win this yet, wife.” 

She laughed, relieved, and hugged him tight. After sharing a passionate kiss, Brienne pulled back and smiled, “I think I already have, husband.”

He grinned, and they kissed again. Together they watched as an enraged Lord Bolton was led to his horse amid cheers and jeers of the crowd. 

Now came the tricky part.

*

Trapped inside Winterfell, Jon watched as Bolton’s troops rallied along the outskirts of the battlements, staying just far enough away from an arrow’s flight. They appeared to be getting ready for a long siege. Already, they were setting up new camps and raising makeshift barriers. 

Jon grimaced at their preparations. He hoped that Sansa would stay away until help arrived. The thought that Jon and his men were safe inside Winterfell’s walls while his sister was still out there made him gnash his teeth worriedly. 

Though there were many dead, Jon dispassionately studied the frozen crimson ground that was littered with bodies. He had learned that to be a good leader, one must overcome emotional involvement. This was war, and people died in war. Once his sister was in power, he would mourn the loss of his friends and comrades, but he did not have the luxury to do so now.

He noted that though there were more Bolton dead than his own, too many still lived for his men to mount a successful counter attack. Every now and then, one of his archers would let loose an arrow that would take out any Bolton guard that got too close to the gates of Winterfell.

Alas, Jon and his small band of survivors could do nothing but wait until Tormund arrived with reinforcements. Hopefully, he would bring enough Wildling’s fighters to kill the troops camped behind the barricades. 

Though Jon could not believe that they had won, he was also upset that their plans had not worked out as originally envisioned. Sansa should already be here, safe with him.

Before they had started this fight, the Northern Mountain clans had warned him what Jaime and Brienne were going to do against the Dreadfort reinforcements. Jon had been worried about the influx of refugees and Dreadfort soldiers, but he was surprised by how many showed up wounded. In a way, it was a blessing from the gods. There were many more troops than what they had planned for, but they did not pose the threat that Jon had feared. 

Jon was relieved when he noticed that the dead were being immolated by his surviving men who had been taken prisoner by Bolton’s troops. The irony that a new White Walker army had nearly been made was not lost on him.

Turning his attention elsewhere, he peered down at the wounded men and women in the courtyard—both his own followers and refugees from the Dreadfort. Though the food stores in Winterfell were well provisioned, he doubted they would last long enough for help to arrive. He would have to parley a truce with Lord Bolton so they could exchange prisoners.

Tyrion limped over to him, his leg freshly bandaged. Jon registered that the diminutive man clutched his side in pain. Jon’s flash of worry twisted into an amused grin. Somehow, Tyrion had found a bottle of wine and was drinking straight from it. 

Mistaking Jon’s smirk as disappointment, Tyrion reassured him, “For medicinal purposes only.” 

Though he snorted in mirth, Jon was sympathetic to his friend’s aches. He felt as if he had been run over by a horse and cart. Grimacing, he rubbed his bandaged chest. He declined when Tyrion offered him some of his “medicine.” 

Shrugging, the small lord took another guzzle and then wiped his mouth dry with a bloodied sleeve. He asked Jon, “Anything?”

“No. My hope is that my sister will stay clear.” He frowned, his focus on the sudden commotion as Bolton’s men raced to the barricades that blocked the southern road that led to Winterfell. Jon saw that they had weapons poised and archers at the ready.

By the apprehensive reaction by those men behind the barricades, Jon could tell that someone was slowly approaching. Further down the road, Jon finally saw that a small convoy was coming over the rise.

His concern that Roose Bolton or his dreadful son had somehow scrounged up more men made him feel ill. Then the sight before him made him wish that was what was truly going on. For behind the three lead horses rode a young woman with long, flowing auburn hair. Behind her, a large procession of armed angry villagers followed.

He prayed he was mistaken until he heard Tyrion moan in worry, “No, no. What is my brother up to now?”

His fears confirmed, it seemed that his sister and the Lannisters had planned on coming to Winterfell after all. And they were bringing the villagers with them.

Jon hoped that they knew what they were doing. Even though they had more followers than the surviving Boltons, they were small folk with no military training and there was a chance they could lose. To save his sister, he would have no choice but to give up Winterfell should she be captured. 

Meanwhile, he supposed he had better prep his men incase Sansa and the others made a run for the safety of Winterfell. With a grimace, he called out to those below in the courtyard, “Prepare for battle!”

*

Jaime and Brienne rode on either side of Roose Bolton’s steed. Between them, the man was trussed across the rump of his horse, hog-tied and gagged. Though he was disheveled and bruised, it wasn’t difficult to mistake their prisoner as anyone other than the glowering Lord Bolton.

Jaime thought it was only right that the man should go through the same humiliation that he had been subjected to by Bolton’s men all that time ago. 

Further behind them rode Sansa, her last guard riding slightly ahead of her. She made sure to use a slow canter so the swelling crowd of armed villagers behind them could keep up. Podrick was still too dazed to ride in front, thus they had placed him carefully in a cart at the back of the procession. Sansa hoped he was conscious enough to see their glory now; she wished he was well enough to ride by her side into Winterfell. 

Jaime thought they must have made an odd sight to those that spotted them first: He and his wife sitting proud on their steeds, while Bolton lay lashed across his horse as if he were baggage. Jaime hoped this conveyed to others that they meant business so no one would try target practice on them. If they were smart, they should have ridden in the back with Podrick’s cart. But his wife had insisted on being the ones to bring in Bolton. According to her, they were going to fulfill their obligation to Catelyn Stark and her daughter in true warrior fashion.

Just before they crested the hill, Jaime exchanged a small smile with his wife. She curtly bobbed her head, all business as usual.   
Then the sight in front of them nearly had them stopping their horses sharply.

The death and destruction before them was devastating and proved this to have been a fierce, violent battle. It had been one thing to view it from a distance on the hill, but now, seeing it this close up revealed the field before Winterfell to be truly horrific.

The vast battlefield in front of the Keep was littered with the dead. The massive amount of blood made the muddy, snow-packed ground glisten a bright red. Though there were many bodies wearing Clan and Wilding's furs, there seemed to be more clad in Bolton colors. The groans of the wounded and dying roared around them like waves on the ocean. 

Jaime had led so many battles that after a while the carnage bothered him less and less. And though this had been a small skirmish when compared to the many campaigns he had been on, for some reason this one affected him unlike the others had.   
Perhaps it was due to how much more fulfilled his life had become lately. The folly of war was more pronounced because he had something truly worth living for. It was that same feeling he had to tamp down, or he was sure he would have grabbed the reins of Brienne’s horse and dragged them both in the opposite direction.

For before them was the stark reminder of how little regard mankind had for one another. There was no glory now, only death.  
The few Wilding and Clan prisoners were being directed by Bolton men to pile the deceased onto pyres, some already ablaze.   
The smell was horrid, and Jaime saw Brienne gulp loudly as the stench assailed them. 

With a grimace, Jaime nudged his horse forward, and the party continued towards Winterfell. Their horses’ hooves spattered through puddles of blood and gore on the road, and Jaime tried to hide his disgust. 

They came upon makeshift barricades that had been erected across the road. As they approached them, Jaime sneered at how vulnerable he and his wife would be should the archers decide to let loose with their arrows. Thankfully, Lady Sansa and her group were further back behind them. No sense getting her killed if this crazy plan failed.

Suddenly, a young voice hollered out from behind one of the barricades. “Stop right there!” 

Soldiers peeked out from between the small openings to study them. Jaime saw that their crossbows were trained on him and Brienne. 

He held up a hand to signal a halt. Jaime called out to those behind the blockade, “I would not be so quick to loosen those bolts if I were you. You might accidentally hit your lord.”

Cautiously, a sergeant of the guard stood up from behind one of the obstructions. He sneered as he took in the sight before him. “You are committing treason against the Warden of the North. Surrender now, and your lives may be spared.”

Lady Sansa trotted up through the ranks of townspeople and halted beside Brienne. “No,” she declared, “it is you who are committing treason against the rightful Warden of the North. I am Lady Sansa Stark, and I have come to claim my rightful place at Winterfell. If you are truly honorable, you will lay down your weapons and let us pass, for it is well-known that a Stark, and only a Stark, shall lead the people of the North.”

The townspeople let out a raucous cheer at Sansa’s words. Behind the barrier, the soldiers looked wary. They whispered to each other until the sergeant scowled at them. 

Sansa continued, “As the rightful heir to Winterfell, I am ordering you to stand down. If you do so, no charges will come against you. Know that I speak justly and will hold no ill will towards any who concede to me. I am sure most of you either knew my father, Lord Eddard Stark, or knew of him, and how his word was honor. I, too, follow my father’s law. I vow that those who pledge allegiance to my rule will be spared.”

She pointed behind her at the mass of armed commoners. “I do not wish to see more blood spilled today, but if it is necessary, we will end this now with the North united against the usurpers.” 

The crowd cheered again as even more of them crested over the hill behind Sansa. One by one, the soldiers behind the barricade stood to get a better look at the imperious girl. Her gaze raked over them. The soldiers were vastly outnumbered.   
They clenched their weapons tightly, looking to their leader for his decision. The sergeant licked his parched lips and glared at Lady Sansa.

Being so close to front lines made Jaime nervous. The longer they waited, the more vulnerable they became to an attack. He need not worry, however. As the soldier’s waited for their orders, a Bolton guard from behind the barricade suddenly tossed down his weapon and dropped to his knees in surrender. 

It seemed to take only one to break the hold that Bolton had on his men, and soon others joined on bended knee. With almost every soldier surrendering, it did not take long for the pile of discarded weapons to grow. The sergeant and the few soldiers that still stood insolently beside him were set upon by the villagers. 

The siege against Winterfell ended on that road with nearly every Bolton soldier surrendering. Only a few Bolton supporters perished when they refused to disarm themselves. 

Though these Bolton soldiers fought back fiercely, for others, this defiance was a show of unity to their lord only, and they did not fight. So those that took arms against the rebelling commoners were either killed or quickly disarmed. Once they were apprehended by the butcher and his group, they were restrained with ropes.

Jaime and Brienne stayed where they were, the villagers had it well covered.

With the way now under control, Sansa turned her mount to face the villagers and this time they took a knee to her. Bowing their heads, they showed the new Warden of the North the reverence she deserved.

As she gazed about at her subjects, it was not hard to miss the beaming smile that graced Sansa’s lips. Grinning, Brienne and Jaime dipped their heads in respect. Jaime could not believe that it was almost over. He shared a small laugh with his wife, who appeared almost giddy.

“Now let us continue to Winterfell!” Sansa ordered, and the Lannisters led the procession forward.

As they trotted slowly towards Winterfell, more Bolton supporters fell to their knees before Lady Sansa. The murmuring from the people behind them grew into chants of “The true Stark, Lady Sansa. Long may she rule!” 

As they rode towards the gates of her old home, Sansa breathed deeply, a feeling of elation filling her chest. Winterfell was much changed, and there would be years of rebuilding both the walls and what the Starks had lost. But there was hope. 

The gates flew open as Sansa’s procession neared, and Jon led his fighters out to greet them. As the two groups met one another on the remnants of the battlefield, loud cheers erupted. Sansa swung down from her mount and Jon rushed to embrace her. 

The North was aligned once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am afraid we have reached the end of what is ready to be published. There are still about 5 chapters left (loose ends that need tying and all that). 
> 
> Alas, with the holidays, it will take longer to complete them. As soon as they are done, I will publish them, so possibly they will be ready around Jan/Feb time.
> 
> Sorry about how long this is going to take to complete. I really wanted to get this done before the holidays, but honestly, I am a bit burned out right now (plus personal and work issues, and holiday fun - the usual trifecta). %;-)
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and I hope everyone has a wonderful and safe holiday.


	20. Repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience. 
> 
> Sorry, this has taken me so long to get back to. Personal issues and writer’s malaise were to blame. Now, most of the chapters are done, only the last two need rewrites, so there is no stopping until it is all published.
> 
> Once again a big thank you shout out to my wonderful beta Bergamot! She really helped me with these chapters as well as motivated me to keep going. As always, you rock chica!

As the sun began to set for the night, Winterfell opened its gates once more, but this time it was to let in the victors. The large group of elated Stark supporters that entered Winterfell was led by Lady Sansa and Jon Snow. Jaime and Brienne followed right behind them, ever vigilant. Lord Bolton’s steed was pulled on a tether behind Brienne’s mount. He was strapped across his horse’s rump, and his wide eyes reflected horror as those crowding around them cheered at his plight.

From the middle of the courtyard, a pleased Tyrion watched them arrive. Because of his wounds, Tyrion could not meet them on the battlefield with Jon, so he had stayed behind to organize his wife’s homecoming.

He had just finished supervising the moving of those injured at Dreadfort to outside of the Keep. Bolton’s loyalists would still get proper treatment, but Tyrion wanted to make sure there was plenty of room for the Starks and their supporters. 

Tyrion could not suppress the grin that crossed his features when he saw his brother halt his horse nearby. Letting out a loud hoot of joy, he limped over to meet Jaime and Brienne. 

Brienne knew Jaime had worried as to why his brother had not joined them out on the battlefield with Jon. The coarsely-worded whisper of relief from his lips of, “Tyrion,” was for her ears only. 

Though tired, Jaime slid quickly off his steed and bent down to embrace his younger brother.

As the two hugged, Brienne stayed seated on her mount and gazed around at the chaos in the courtyard, stunned. The reality of their victory was finally settling in. As soldiers and loyalists celebrated loudly around them, she felt a huge weight lift from her shoulders. She swore that her loud exhale of respite came from her very soul.

She had completed her oath. Lady Sansa was home safe.

Though the guilt of those who had died because of her actions nibbled at the edge of her sanity, the elation of finally being finished with her deadly quest quickly muted it. 

The next exhale also came from very deep, and with it, she was reminded of the bone-tiredness she felt throughout her battered and bruised body. She wondered how much was due to the new life growing within her and the changes that her body was going through. She sardonically reflected that maybe it was just as well that she was finished with her oath to Catelyn Stark. 

Though it saddened her that the other Stark children were either dead or gods-know-where, she believed she could focus on her next pledge with a clear conscience. 

At least the vow she had made to her husband and unborn child meant they could take a breather now. Honestly, the thought of settling down did not sound half as awful as it had at the beginning of this journey. Smiling, Brienne had a feeling this next adventure was going to be rather interesting.

A small laugh escaped her lips. She never thought she would have ever accepted a role as wife and mother. Maybe in a year or so, she would change her mind, but now she was looking forward to staying in one place for a time. This last adventure had taken a lot out of her. 

Glancing over to her husband, she knew Jaime would be relieved to hear this as well. 

Though he had been game throughout this entire venture, she could see the physical and mental strain taking its toll on him. His green eyes were always guarded now, and it seemed as if she was not the only one who noticed it. Tyrion was looking at his brother with a perplexed expression. Ignoring his silent inquiry, Jaime stood and smiled at Brienne. Catching his gaze, she exhaled once more.

As the exuberant fighters crowded around their small party, Brienne slid tiredly off her saddle. After a lengthy stretch, she ambled over to the horse behind her and glared at the prostrate Lord Bolton. Though he tried to hide it, she could see the fear in his eyes. They widened more when she pulled free the ornate dagger hidden in her boot.

Her hand flexed angrily as she thought of all the wrongs this man and his ilk had caused. It would be so easy to just end him now.

With a quick flick of the sharp blade against the ropes, the ex-Warden of the North was unceremoniously shoved off the horse. He landed head-first onto the wet ground. As he spat out a mouthful of mud and tried to clamber to his feet, Jaime laughed at his expense.

The sharp noise had Tyrion glancing up at him in concern, but Jaime waved him off.

This had been such a long adventure, and Jaime was thankful that it would be over soon. Just the thought of sleeping on the open road again made him shudder. He wondered what had happened to the man who used to love the endless campaigns and long nights camping out in the cold. Now all he yearned for was a nice warm, soft bed and his wife to hold close. Jaime hoped that Brienne would feel the same way. At least for a little while, he mused ruefully.

Hearing a whimpering noise, Jaime turned his focus back to the scared man at their feet.

Brienne leered down at Bolton. She was glaring at his right hand again, and Bolton tried tucking the bound appendage more protectively against his body. 

She growled at Jaime, “I say we chop off his hand first.”

Panicking, Bolton pleaded, “I had nothing to do with Locke’s behavior!”

Now her cold blue eyes focused in on his and she spat, “True, but as their leader, you are responsible for your men’s actions. Besides, when you left me back at Harrenhal, you allowed them to throw me into your bear pit with only a fucking wooden sword as protection!”

Worried that his fuming wife might go through with the execution here and now, Jaime tried to quell her outrage by japing, “And don’t forget about that hideous pink dress.”

This seemed to snap her out of her anger, and she ceased looming threateningly over the fearful man at her feet.

Jaime placed his hand on her arm, and his weary voice broke through her fury, “I know you wish amends, but we should let Stark justice handle this. They were the ones most-egregiously damaged by his machinations.” They both wearily glanced to his damaged stump, but Brienne reluctantly acquiesced.

His fatigued voice belayed the exhaustion he felt. Frankly, he was tired of vengeance and thought that maybe if they stopped it themselves, less would occur. But instead of stating his thoughtful declaration, he stated quietly, “And once this was all settled, I think we both could use a nap.”

Snorting, Brienne nodded in agreement. “And we could also use a bath.”

Jaime grinned wryly. They still smelled of soot and sweat. Although most of the blood had washed away in the rain and sleet they had endured, there were still irritating brown patches caked onto their skin that itched constantly. If only there weren't still so much to deal with, he would have demanded hot water be brought to them now.

Instead, he sighed loudly. Ignoring the cowering man below them, Jaime grasped Brienne’s hand in his and pulled her close. Leaning near to her ear, he whispered, “I hope you are done with your pledges, wife, for I plan to sleep through the winter with you tight by my side.” 

She blushed a coy smile on her lips and nodded curtly. “That is a vow I can get behind, husband.”

Her words gladdened his heart, and he leaned in to kiss her when they heard Lady Sansa coming nearby. Turning, they spied the young ruler lingering over a cart of the injured, talking quietly to Podrick. The poor boy was still in a daze as Sansa motioned some of her men over. On a makeshift litter, the wounded Podrick was carried off into Winterfell to be treated. Brienne and Jaime wistfully watched him go. 

Regaining some semblance of self, Jaime inhaled and made himself stand straighter. He was still a proud lion, and not even his aching stump and body would keep him from seeing this to the end. Both he and his wife waited to hear what Lady Sansa wished to do now.

While Jon ordered his men about, a worried Sansa studied the ways her familial home had changed over the past few years. Though the Boltons had repaired most of the damage from the attack by the Ironborn, her home still felt wrong. She noticed the cross beams erected by the entrance to the main hall, drying blood still sticky on the ground, indicating they had recently been used to remove the skin from Bolton’s enemies. The sight sent her blood singing, and she nearly called for Bolton’s head there and then.

But then a gentle breeze drifted from the nearby Godswood enclosure. Though the ancient trees were bare, the familiar sweet scent of blossoms wafted down around her, a comforting reminder of better days long past. As the fragrant wind caressed her, Sansa knew that everything would be alright. It was as if the trees were giving her strength to get through all this. She really was home.

Relaxing, she mused that it was not like her to lead any credence to such mystic beliefs. It was her father and Bran who held such fanciful notions about weirwoods being alive and such. But, maybe, there was something to it after all. Perhaps what she had endured getting back here made her more attuned to her surroundings, but she honestly did not know. 

She could be mistaken, but it felt as if a new peace had now settled in the air. Maybe her presence was recognized and the Stark ancestral home of Winterfell was accepting her back. Or, possibly, it was due to Bolton’s rule no longer being enforced; she did not know. All she knew was that the oppressive weight that pressing down upon her young shoulders for so many years had disappeared. She even heard others around her exhaling in relief. 

Yes, a Stark was finally home.

Tyrion approached and cautiously grasped her hand. “My Lady, I am pleased to see you made it home where you belong.” If he had noticed the look of concerned adoration she had aimed at Podrick earlier, he did not mention it.

She automatically smiled down at him, and then registering who had spoken, she quickly pulled free of his hand with a slight recoil. Acknowledging his stunned look, Sansa took a deep breath. This was still all new, and her heart wasn’t in it. Tyrion had been kind to her, but he was still a Lannister; someone she had been forced to marry.

Alas, they had to present a united front to her people if they were to succeed. She would deal with her churning feelings in private later.

Sansa felt many pairs of eyes staring at her to see what she would do next. She forced herself to cordially address Tyrion and replied, “And it is good to see you too, my lord husband.” 

Still, she feared she would have to kiss him in front of the expectant onlookers. Thankfully, their awkward interaction was interrupted by a sudden commotion. Glancing over at the noise, it seemed that some Wildings had come across a corpulent woman hiding behind some barrels tucked in the back of the courtyard. With a triumphant cry, they pulled the quaking woman forward and presented her to the surprised Lady Sansa.

A distraught Lady Walda curtsied meekly and stuttered, “Please my Lady, I never meant you or your family any harm.”

Trying to keep control over the vengeful emotions washing over her, Sansa forced herself to think for a moment. Finally, she stated, “That is true, but you are still a Frey. Put her with the other prisoners.”

With a commanding gesture, Sansa motioned for the Wildings to grab Lord Bolton. The Northern Clans took umbrage at that, and the leader of the Flints growled out, “Why do they get the honor? Bolton hurt us the worst.”

Sighing in irritation, Sansa said, “There is no time for jealousy when we are dealing with justice. Help by rounding up the other prisoners. All Bolton loyalists are as guilty as the man they follow. But separate the Bolton soldiers who pledged allegiance to me from the others. I will deal with them another time.” Even after accepting her orders, the clans argued amongst themselves as to who should do what.

Sansa’s cool gaze quieted them down. When they were finally civil, she ordered, “Bring Bolton, his wife, and his surviving officers into the main hall.” 

As they rushed off to do as they were commanded, Sansa once more exhaled. She believed the sooner the punishment was doled out, the quicker the people could move on and heal.

“My lady, shall we?” Jon asked while indicating the main hall of Winterfell.

After a curt nod from Tyrion, Sansa replied, “Yes, we are ready.”

With Jaime, Brienne, and Jon as their honor guard, Sansa and Tyrion strolled into the main building of the welcoming Keep.

Sansa ignored the Wildings and various Northern Clans who continued to jockey for position as to who should follow behind them. All she cared about was that she was finally home.

*

As they made their way to the back of the main hall, Jon leaned over and whispered just loud enough for those close around him to hear, “I am sorry my lady, but it appears as if Ramsay Bolton had gotten away. Currently, I have my best Wilding scouts hunting for him, and I assure you that he will be found soon.”

Both Jaime and Brienne looked worriedly about the area as if expecting Ramsay to pop out at any moment.

Sansa cursed internally at this news. Though she had never met the odious man herself, his escape meant his legitimacy as a Bolton heir could be used to rally the Northern enemies against her.

“He needs to be found at once, Jon,” her command was low and forceful. She did not want to cause any undo concern for her people.

Touching his wound, Tyrion grumbled beside her, “Once found, I plan on personally feeding him to his dogs.”

Solemnly Jon replied, “They seem to have disappeared as well, my lord. We found a dead guard in the kennels and the cages were empty.”

Tyrion’s stricken features betrayed his anxiety.

Making their way to the front of the hall, Sansa waited for Lord Tyrion to join her side. She would have to remember to slow her usual rushed gait down. Then, together, they marched up the short flight of steps. On the dais, Sansa stood regally next to her diminutive husband. If either showed any trepidation towards the other and their new roles, they hid it well.

As a sign of fidelity, those before them bowed or curtsied to the new Warden of the North. The Starks and Lannisters were now official allies. 

Tyrion wished he could see his father’s expression when news of their joining finally reached him. The irony that Lord Tywin had forced this marriage in the first place, only to have it now bite him in the ass, made Tyrion smile widely.

Sansa sat down, and Tyrion took his place next to her on his own oversized chair. Ned Stark had been a rather large man, after all. 

The sound of bickering roused Sansa from her thoughts, and she frowned as the various clans around the room continued to posture for dominance. With no more enemies to fight, old rivalries had risen back up. The northern mountain clans yelled threats at the Wildings, who refused to back down. 

Sansa sighed. Détente was going to take some time, she reminded herself. She turned to focus on what—or who—was now being dragged through the front doors. A hush settled over the hall as the prisoners were brought forward. The reminder of their true enemy seemed to squash the squabbling for the moment. 

Lord Bolton, Fat Walda, and the few other high ranking Bolton loyalists still alive were pushed onto their knees before the Lady and Lord of Winterfell.

The New Warden of the North coolly gazed down at the restrained individuals before her. 

Tyrion did not say a word and glanced to Sansa to follow her lead. “It is your show, my lady,” he said quietly. 

She surreptitiously nodded. Glaring down at the kneeling man who had caused her families ills, Sansa’s tone was unemotional. “Lord Bolton, for your betrayal against my family—”

Struggling to his feet, Roose lunged forward toward the dais. His nearby supporters seemed to give strength to this action by surging with him. As they were quickly pulled back by the guards, Roose shouted, “This is entirely Robb’s fault. If your brother had just married that Frey as he had promised—!”

Sansa barely concealed the fury she was feeling internally. “You still would have betrayed him. Just at a different time. That is your family’s way.”

Roose stuttered out, “That would not have been the case—”

Her voice rose in anger at his denial, “Your House has always used any excuse to deceive mine! I want to know if it truly was worth killing my brother and my mother over it. Of making the North further destabilized?” His silence was her answer. “Anything else you wish to say before justice is served?”

Licking his lips, Roose whined, “I—I demand trial by combat.”

Imperiously, Sansa glared coldly at the man who had just dropped to his knees in defeat. “You facilitated in the treachery against my family and boasted of killing my brother, the King. There will be no favors from the Gods for you. I decree that you shall have your head separated from your body on the morrow.” 

Desperate, Roose pleaded, “Please, at least spare my wife!”

Sansa was surprised he would want her spared, especially since he was so quick to leave the poor woman behind to face his enemies. She wondered if perhaps Walda carried his spawn. If this was true, she could never condemn an innocent child, regardless of its parentage.

Instead, she snidely spat at Roose, “Unlike you, we will not leave her behind to the wolves. She is free to go back to the Trident. But she and all the other Freys must be gone from our lands within the week. If any Frey or Bolton supporters are caught in the Northern territory again, they will be hanged.” 

The prisoners’ sighs of relief twisted into anguish.

Sitting forward, Sansa focused on the concerned woman at her feet. “And any Bolton or their heirs will now have the last name of Deceiver. Even the name of Snow is too good for a House of betraying bastards. I want no connection to the North associated with them ever again. Furthermore, the name Bolton will be struck from all records and never mentioned again. Their traitorous House ends today. It is time that the blight of the Flayed Man be extinguished forever.”

Roose sneered, “You will never be able to silence my House. My son Ramsay will seek vengeance to all whom—”

Sansa’s harsh laugh echoed through the hall. “Hardly,” her anger seethed through her clenched teeth, “When your son is found, his head will join yours on a pike.” As Roose grimaced, Sansa continued, “As for the other prisoners, they are to be tried for their crimes later. We will wait to cast the verdict on them until others can be questioned. We need time to review the evidence before sentencing is given. We will not skin people without a trial.” 

“Unlike you,” was practically thrown in Bolton’s face. 

“As for your troops who have pledged themselves to me, they will have the option of either joining the Black or leaving the North for good.” As those in the audience cried out at the unfairness of it all, Sansa said, “I did promise that they would be spared, but by supporting the traitor Bolton, they have proven that they can never be trusted again and must leave.”

Finished, she gave a dismissive wave, “Throw Bolton in the dungeons. And put the other prisoners in cells, as well. His wife and her allies must leave tonight under escort.”

Outraged by her callous dismissal, Roose’s face twisted and he spat at Sansa’s feet. “You will never wipe out the Bolton name. We have been here since the Old Ones, and not even a mere slip of a girl will ever change that.”

“Take him away.” At Sansa’s order, guards dragged the struggling man towards the exit. His wife sadly watched him go and then followed the other prisoners from the room. 

Sansa sat back. There was one last issue that had to be dealt with before she could get some much-deserved rest. 

She exhaled when her gaze rested on Celyne and her father, who waited together at the back of the room. Sansa had noticed them, and the other survivors of the Wull clan, enter as she sentenced Roose Bolton. She saw that Lord Wull was not in chains and pursed her lips. He stared at her defiantly, and she curtly nodded at them. 

Though Wull’s actions had made it possible for her victory, Sansa could not abide anyone going against her rule, so an example had to be made of the clan’s old leader. 

“Lady Celyne, new leader of the Wull Clan, please bring your father forward.” 

Sansa’s sudden attention seemed to startle the young clanswoman. The leaders of the other clans elbowed one another and murmured excitedly; some even appeared smug. Taking a deep breath, Celyne led her father forward, and both took a knee to Lady Sansa. Those of the Wull Clan also sank to their knees behind them. 

Sansa gestured, and father and daughter stood. In a sign of solidarity to their liege, the Wull Clan did not rise when Celyne and her father did. This effrontery was not lost on those in the chambers, and the murmurs echoing around Celyne grew gruff with agitation. 

Clearing her throat, Celyne began to say something, but Sansa cut her off. 

“Your father is charged with treason for going against my explicit orders,” she declared. “His duplicity murdered many innocents that myself and the Lannisters had hoped to prevent.”

The audience in the chamber muttered in support of their new Warden. The bullying ex-leader of the Wull Clan, who had nearly wiped out their smaller clans over the years, was finally getting what he deserved.

Sansa’s voice rose to be heard over the din as she focused on the ex-leader of the Wulls. “Normally I would have you executed, but you and your clan were instrumental in helping us defeat the Boltons. Instead, you are exiled from the North. If you ever come back here again, I will have you executed.”

Lord Wull took her judgment with a proud expression. “I will not ask for forgiveness for what I deemed was necessary,” he said, “but I think your punishment is just, and I will do as you command.”

Sansa ground her teeth at his impudence. She wanted to send for Jon and Longclaw, not let this betrayer off easy. But that was what an impatient child would do, and Sansa was no child. She was a leader now and must be careful in regards to her rule and tongue.

Before she could spit out a condemnation, an old Wull warrior stepped forward and pledged, “Where my Lord goes, I follow.” 

Many others in the Wull Clan murmured their agreement. Wull turned and focused on them. “No, I need you to stay here and follow the new leader of the Wull clan. My daughter was chosen to lead by the Warden, and Celyne has proven herself to be the best one for the job.” He stared down the warrior until the man nodded in capitulation.

“As my Lo… as you command.” The man then bowed to Lady Celyne, and she curtly bobbed her head back.

After a stout bow to Lady Sansa and a kiss to his daughter's forehead, the audience in the chamber watched as old Lord Wull strode out of the hall, never to return. Jon motioned some Wildings, and they followed the proud man out.

As the whispers from the audience were amplified, Sansa sat back tiredly in her chair and stated, “Now I know that much still needs to be dealt with, and I assure you that it all will be taken care of. But it has been a long, trying day for all.” She paused. “I am sure that most of you would like to retire for the evening.”

Sansa noticed that the Northern Clans and Wildings shifted impatiently, their faces already eager to ply her for favors. “All issues concerning property and rewards will be dealt with on the morrow,” she promised them. “Meanwhile, I will instruct the kitchen to keep food and drink available through the night. Later in the week, we will hold a proper celebration. Now, I insist that everyone get some rest.” 

Sansa saw Jaime and Brienne lean tiredly against each other, hardly able to stay on their feet. Before they could turn to leave, Sansa quickly called out to them. “But first, I want to say a special thank you to the Lord and Lady Lannister, who have helped me and my—” she grabbed Tyrion’s small hand in hers, “beloved get back to where we belong.”

After a formal bow, Jaime and Brienne proudly nodded up at the new power couple. Brienne’s voice broke as she replied, “We are happy that we could be of service to you and Lord Tyrion. My Lady, I know your parents would be very proud of the leader you have become. The North is blessed to have you as their Warden.”

Sansa’s eyes shimmered as she tilted her head in acknowledgment to them. 

Dismissed, they began to walk and then stopped, unsure where they should head. Suddenly, a servant approached and curtsied to them. She indicated for the Lannisters to follow her to their chambers. 

After they had made their way deeper into the Keep, the servant led them up some old stone stairs. The steps were murder on Jaime’s knees, but the thought of lying down beckoned him to do it on his own and not ask his wife to carry him. Besides, she would probably hoist him over her shoulder, and he did want to experience that ever again.

Jaime swore that the time to get to their destination was interminable, but they finally reached their room. Upon entry, Jaime’s loud groan of relief at the sight of the large bed made Brienne smile. Ignoring the servant who puttered by the hearth to light a fire, he collapsed onto the bed face-first and began to snore loudly.

After the servant had got the fire started, Brienne nodded her thanks and shut the door behind her Bemused at her sleeping husband, Brienne shoved him over to make some room for herself and then joined Jaime for a much-needed rest.

*

A few hours later, Jaime awoke to a loud thumping sound coming from down the hall. Imagining it to be a trick of his exhausted mind, he shut his eyes once more. Just before he could fall sleep again, there was a loud bang. Now wide awake, Jaime listened as more banging rang out. Finally, he shook Brienne awake. 

Grumblingly angrily, she rolled over. Exasperated, Jaime nudged her shoulder harder, nearly shoving her from the bed. “Wench,” he hissed, “I think there is a battle raging below us.” Fearing that Ramsay had somehow rallied the Bolton supporters, Jaime envisioned that they were under siege.

Brienne stopped muttering the nasty things she wanted to do to Jaime and listened instead. 

Jaime frowned, for, of course, it was quiet now. He was about to insist that he had not been dreaming when they heard a loud crash echoing from downstairs. It sounded as if someone was banging on a wooden surface. Brienne’s eyes flared open, and they shared a surprised look.

Quickly, they got out of bed. Ignoring the fact that they still wore their grubby clothes from the previous day, they grabbed their weapons and exited their chambers, swords out at the ready.

Creeping silently down the hall, they heard another loud noise and a shout of victory. It did not sound like a typical triumphant battle cry. 

Jaime and Brienne frowned at one another and cautiously made their way down the stairs. Suddenly, the loud, hectic thumping and banging began once again. There was a distinctive beat to it and Jaime frowned, wondering if someone was using tabletops as drums.

Then the sound of a fiddle and flute was added and an elated cry of joy from a group of people echoed down the corridor towards them. To Jaime, it sounded as if they were trying to sing, “The Dornishman’s Wife,” but it was a horrid rendition.

The main hall was empty, so they followed the noise to the large dining area where the disorder was occurring. Poking their heads around the corner, the sight before them made them chuckle. 

The dining area was packed with drunken revelers. It seemed as if the past animosities between the factions had been put aside, for now, Wildings partied alongside Northern Clansmen and soldiers. A large group of them were attempting to sing and dance, and the sight was most amusing, for most were too drunk to do either well. Others were drinking or eating greasy meat, and a few lay sprawled where too much drink had felled them.

It seemed that no one had gone to bed, and instead, an impromptu celebration had started. And by the look of how inebriated everyone was, it had gone on for a while. Jaime felt a bit put-out that no one invited him, but he figured that even if someone had pounded on their door, they probably had slept through it.

By the sound of their vociferous jeering, it was obvious that the Wilding and Northern Clans were well into their cups. A new bawdy song began and their off-key singing nearly shook the rafters. Throughout the vulgar chorus, men arm wrestled and punched one another, trying to knock their opponents to the ground. 

Jaime shook his head; he never understood this need to prove who was stronger in this manner. 

At least the revelers were getting along. Drink and merrymaking had replaced the anger they’d displayed earlier towards one another that had been decades in the making. It also had not helped that Sansa had failed to give them adequate recompense for taking Winterfell. All in all, it could have been a disaster.

His gaze wandered, and Jaime noticed his brother sitting alone at one of the back tables, a pitcher of wine nearby. Tyrion took a deep gulp from his cup and scowled in another direction across the room. Jaime followed his stare and saw the reason for his angry frown.

At one of the tables tucked in the back, Sansa and Podrick sat together, quietly talking and eating. Now and then, she would look up and laugh at some antic being carried out across the room. But it was clear that her focus remained on the young squire who sat very close to her side.

Before a sleep-deprived and irritated Brienne could pull Jaime back upstairs to bed, he grabbed her arm and led her to his brother's table. She opened her mouth to argue with him, but then she, too, caught sight of Tyrion. She glanced at Jaime as they made their way across the room, concerned for the morose atmosphere that hung around his brother. 

Jaime dropped down onto the bench next to Tyrion and the diminutive man finally noticed him. Brienne took a seat beside her husband, and Tyrion jerked his head at her in a poor attempt at a greeting.

Jaime cleared his throat, but before he could ask Tyrion about his sour mood, his brother curled his lip and inquired, “What are you two doing up?” 

Jaime grimaced as he eyed the nearly-empty pitcher of wine. “It is a little hard to sleep with all this noise.” He cast his eyes ruefully towards the ceiling, “I think our chamber is directly above here.”

Chuckling, Tyrion nodded and then toasted the largest group of drunken revelers. He paused and frowned as he realized his cup was empty. As he poured the remainder from the pitcher into it, he signaled over a serving girl. 

“So you noticed the celebration,” he growled at Jaime. “It seemed an impromptu drinking game has started. I would join, but none will try me. I guess my penchant for holding alcohol precedes me, even in the North.”

Trying to hide a yawn, Brienne leaned against her husband and quietly took in their surroundings. She did not appear to be all that impressed and tiredly rubbed her eyes.

Jaime knew how she felt. Though the nap had been a small boon, Jaime doubted he would ever overcome the malaise in his old bones. Even now, it was a struggle to keep his eyes open. If it were not for Tyrion’s unhappiness, he would drag Brienne back to bed this instant. Instead, he signaled for food and drink to be brought to them. 

He was just about to broach the subject of his brother’s ire when a serving girl appeared at his elbow. 

Tyrion raised an eyebrow when Jaime ordered water. 

“And I will have the goat’s milk,” said Brienne. 

Chuckling, Tyrion called for more wine, and the serving girl left with the empty pitcher. Tyrion swatted at her ass drunkenly but she jumped from his reach. Missing, he was too inebriated to keep his balance, and Tyrion began to tumble from the bench. He would have landed in an undignified heap on the floor had Jaime not reached out and pulled him back just in time. 

“My hero,” a drunken Tyrion cooed to his irritated brother. Then turning to Brienne, the diminutive Lord thumped his hand down on the table and scowled at her dramatically. “My lady, you have broken my brother!” 

“Not yet,” Brienne retorted before she could stop herself.

When Brienne’s deep shade of blush surged across her features, Tyrion explained, “What I meant was, where is the cup of wine that was always in my brother’s hand? I have missed hearing the slurred words, the embarrassing singing, the—”

Leaning forward, Jaime blocked Brienne from Tyrion’s jests. “Thank you, Tyrion. If she had not already married me, I would fear you scaring her off.”

Brienne stared at her husband as if he were a stranger. “Drunken song? You are holding out on me, Lannister.” 

Slapping his hands together, Tyrion rubbed them in glee and peered at her around his brother. “I like you. A bit impetuous, perhaps, but you’ll need it, being shackled to him.”

“Don’t forget stubborn,” Jaime added.

Brienne bit back her response as the serving girl approached once more. She set their beverages down before them along with some roasted goat and root vegetables. Jaime declined the plate of greasy meat, but Brienne reached for a piece. 

As Tyrion refilled his goblet, he asked, “I say, why is that delectable creature staring at you, brother?”

Among the loud cheers and revelers was Celyne. Her eyes flicked lasciviously over Jaime, and he blushed like his wench. 

Brienne must have felt her husband’s body suddenly grow warm. She glanced up at him and then saw who had caught his attention. Celyne smirked at them. Brienne gripped the table and made to stand, but Jaime tugged her back down beside him. 

“Why do you want to fight for what you already have?” He murmured in her ear. 

Slightly mollified, Brienne settled back in her husband’s arms and sneered at the woman across the room. 

Tyrion hooted at the dark look Celyne aimed their way. Patting Brienne’s thigh, Tyrion assured her, “Not to worry, my lady. My brother is besotted with you and only you.”

As he settled back into his seat, Tyrion nodded to Jaime. He almost sounded jealous when he said, “Yes, you have quite the protector there, big brother.” After he had taken a big slug of wine, Tyrion asked breathlessly, “With your…attentions now elsewhere, brother, do you think Lady Celyne would entertain a different Lannister brother?”

Jaime chuckled, which earned him an elbow to the ribs from his wife. “Be my guest, brother. I have my hands full with this one. But be warned, you know the Mountain folk—they can be fierce.” 

“Well, I do bruise easily,” Tyrion admitted good-naturedly. 

They watched as Celyne raised her cup in a toast to them. Then another song began, and her men took turns dancing with her. Jaime supposed she would find a good enough suitor among them.

Still, his wife glowered jealously, so Jaime decided to divert her attention elsewhere. When he began to playfully nip at Brienne’s ear, an irritated Tyrion nearly threw the contents of his drink at him. 

Instead, Tyrion made a gagging noise, “Save that for the bedroom, brother. I am trying to get drunk here.” 

Jaime’s gaze flicked over to Sansa and then quickly back to his brother. Catching Jaime’s piteous look aimed his way, Tyrion’s tone became deceptively coy, and he shoved his half full cup of wine at Jaime.  
“And you should be drinking, too. You both are heroes. Come on, Jaime. Try to keep up, if you can.”

The challenging tone had Jaime grinning and he drank the entire contents of his cup. The wine made him a bit woozy, so he had to remember not to overdo it. Now grinning over the edge of the goblet at his frowning wife, Jaime said, “Alright, my wench a wanted song. What would my darling wife care to hear? I know, The Ballad of Brienne the Bl—”

She quickly kissed him to shut him up.

“A new ballad?” Tyrion asked, signaling for more wine. “I would love to hear it.” 

Jaime nodded, pleased, and kissed Brienne on the lips. “Yes, but I think I better wait to catch you up on the latest songs another time.”

The serving girl arrived with a larger cup for Tyrion, who grinned wolfishly at her. She ran away before he could swat her again. 

Frowning at his brother’s wanton behavior, Jaime figured it was best to make his brother aware of his improprieties. Jaime bobbed his head towards Sansa’s table and asked, “So tell me, brother, how are you?”

Ignoring Jaime’s inquiry, Tyrion said, “Did I happen to tell you about my adventures at the Wall before you two arrived to change my fate for the better?”

Jaime was about to steer Tyrion back to the topic of Sansa when Brienne leaned forward against him. The way she pressed against Jaime’s arm was distracting enough that Tyrion launched into his story without interruption. Perhaps his wife wanted to hear the tale, Jaime mused, enjoying the feel of her curves against his side. 

Tyrion was an excellent storyteller, and he kept their cups filled as he recalled his journey to the Great Wall. After a few laughs about his misadventures (one involving an errant chicken and the lack of fire), he ended with, “As soon as I saw the Wall, I felt my nuts shrivel up. And it wasn’t just due to the cold.” He paused and tipped his cup at Brienne. “Sorry, my Lady.”

She only pursed her lips in response, but Tyrion caught the smile growing in the corners of her mouth. He toasted her merrily and continued sarcastically, “Everyone at the Wall was so nice. But I will admit that it did take some time for me to win them all over.” He winked at Brienne. “But you know me—Lord Tenacious.”

Jaime chuckled along with his brother. While some people may find Tyrion too clever for comfort, his brother had a way of charming his way into their good graces eventually. Even Brienne had warmed up to Tyrion quickly. She was hanging off his every word, and Jaime might have been a little jealous if he didn’t know his wench better. 

“Then the Wildings showed up demanding entrance past the Wall, wanting to be free folk,” Tyrion recalled. He gazed about the room, taking in all the new allies that he and his wife had gathered, “They have giants, you know. Even bigger than you, my Lady.”

“How could you tell?” Jaime asked innocently, and Brienne snorted inelegantly in her cup of goat’s milk. 

No stranger to his brother’s teasing, which he sincerely missed, Tyrion ignored his comment and continued unabated, “But Jon has a way of taming even the fiercest of men, it seems. I think it’s his glorious dark locks. Anyway, the Wildings are pleasant enough, if you get past their hygiene issues.”

Jaime had taken his wife’s hand and was slowly rubbing her palm. Brienne melted against him again and he smiled at her softly. Not liking that his audience’s attention was elsewhere, Tyrion cleared his throat loudly. “Imagine my horror,” he exclaimed, “when Stannis Baratheon suddenly appeared! The man whose fleet I had sunk at Blackwater. I ran at the sight of him. I got pretty far, too, before they caught me.” 

Jaime glanced at him sharply and Tyrion shrugged, brushing off his brother’s concern. “I suspect I would have been killed had I not explained my woes to the dear man…Of how I was being accused of killing King Joffrey and that my penance was to be sent to the gods forsaken Wall. I practically had to swear an oath to that witch’s red god that I had murdered Joffrey, after all!” 

He caught his brother’s stricken look and smiled sadly. “I did what I had to do to survive them, Jaime.”

Jaime nodded quickly; he knew that his brother had not murdered his eldest son.

Finishing his wine, Tyrion refilled both their goblets. “Anyway, I did my usual condescending spiel about father and what a tyrant he is. Finally, I won the stubborn dour man over. Now his witch… I do not think she ever truly believed me. But at least I had Stannis eating out of my hand. I was rather concerned when you both showed up and killed him, but it seems to have worked out just fine.”

Tyrion’s gaze flittered about the room. With a shrug, he continued, “You already know of our journey to Lord Cerwyn’s estate. After we left you, we returned north and grabbed who we could.” 

He raised his cup in Jaime’s direction. “Thanks, by the way, for the new recruits from the Northern Clans. They certainly livened up the camp when they met with the Wildings. Thankfully, Jon and his very persuasive charms got them to work together.” Brienne glanced doubtfully around the room and Tyrion chuckled. “Okay, so it took some head knocking, and a few bloodied fists, but look at them now!” He cheerfully pointed to the large group of people who continued to celebrate loudly.

They watched as a Wilding stumbled to his feet and then crashed drunkenly to the ground. The man passed out where he fell, but the party continued unabated, revelers simply stepping over the man if he was in their way.

Trying her best, Brienne still could not hide her yawn very well, and Tyrion smirked. “Sorry, brother, but you’d best get your wife and child to bed.”

At Jaime’s slightly troubled smile, Tyrion whispered to him, “I promise to keep that quiet. And since you will likely be sleeping through the morrow, come seek me out in a day or so and tell me your side of things.” He wagged his eyebrows at them both. 

With a laugh, Jaime clapped Tyrion on his shoulder and helped his tired wife to her feet. He held her close as they made their way back to their room, Tyrion’s story and his troubled look still ringing in Jaime’s mind.

Tyrion watched them go with an indulgent smile, but it fell when he spied Sansa still doting on Podrick. Although the young squire was not Tyrion’s enemy, seeing the way Sansa looked at him set Tyrion’s teeth on edge. He knew the bitter taste in his mouth—it was jealousy, and no amount of wine would quench it.


	21. Last Demons

Sometime later, a semi-refreshed Jaime entered the underground dungeon where Roose Bolton was being held. Barely registering the dankness of the chambers, Jaime tossed a plate of cold food next to the chained man. It would be the ex-Warden’s last meal. 

“Here,” Jaime sneered, “you were kind enough to feed me at Harrenhal, and a Lannister always pays his debts.” 

Roose blurrily glared up at the young lion. “You have come to gloat, Kingslayer? To seek vengeance for what my men have done to you?”

Briefly studying his bandaged stump, Jaime smirked down at the broken man. “I would have every right.” Seeing Bolton tense before him, Jaime added, “Actually, I forgive you for that. Except for the constant pain and a momentary loss of self, having my hand chopped off worked out better for me than I could have imagined.”

Bolton snorted, not at all believing Jaime. “Oh, so the brash Kingslayer is now the Prevailer of honor and respectability?” 

Jaime crouched in front of the chained man. “Many new opportunities came into my life after this.” He raised his bandaged stump and then grinned when the image of his wife came to mind. “Well, more like stubbornly bludgeoned their ways into it. If this hadn’t happened, I would not have a loving wife, a large castle to rule, and now an heir on the way.” 

Bolton glanced up sharply at him in mute rage.

“That is right, my first time together with my lovely wife, and she is already with child.” Jaime chuckled as Roose glowered at him.

Rubbing his bandaged covered stump lightly against his tunic front, Jaime continued, “No, I do not blame you for what your men did to me. What I do find unforgivable is you leaving a defenseless woman alone with those men knowing full well what they would do to her.”

Roose glared at Jaime as his voice continued to rise in anger, “The least they could have done was to feed her to that damn bear of yours, and you know it.” Bolton had the grace to look a bit ashamed by the actions of his men. “That deed will never be forgiven, and it is why I will be very happy when that sword separates your head from your body.”

With vehemence, Bolton challenged out, “I will be avenged.”

“You mean by that sick bastard, Ramsay? As we speak, we have Wildings and the Northern Clans hunting him down. It is only a matter of time before they find him. And then he too will be headed for the chopping block, once again following in his father’s dubious footsteps.” 

The chains rattled as Roose shifted to another position, “You think you have won—”

Jaime nodded determinedly, “More than you can imagine.”

Bolton hissed, “Or so you think Kingslayer. It must be so easy to believe that everything will work out for you. I was once like you, idealistic. But you will fail as I did, and one day your own people will turn against you. Their bellies will grow hungry in winter just as mine did, and they will look to you to save them. Keeping their hungry mouths at bay, keeping power over the mob, is a struggle you will soon understand.”

Jaime cut him off, “Your way only works if you choke the populace instead of ruling them fairly.”

Spittle flew from Roose’s mouth as he barked out a laugh, “So high and mighty. People need to be gripped tightly in the fist of power, or they will revolt. You and your mulish wife will discover that when your people drag you both to the chopping block.”

At the mention of his wench, Jaime’s hackles rose, “That will never happen. My honorable wife and I will not have to flay anyone to have our commands followed. Our actions will lead them. Unlike you, we will not resort to skinning our own people for minor offenses. You are a disgusting sadist.”

Bolton nearly jumped to his feet, but chains prevented him from even trying. “When they turn on you, you will look back at this and wish you had followed my example.”

Jaime chuckled at the man before him. “No, I will look back and laugh. Because of your duplicitous ways, your home has been destroyed, your family disavowed, and your name stricken from the books. By tomorrow, you will no longer exist. All you and your ancestors have worked so hard for will matter not.”

“You are the fool, Kingslayer.”

“I may be the fool, but I at least I will live.” Jaime stood slowly and looked imperiously down at the broken man in the cold, dank cell. “Until the morrow, Lord Bolton.”

*

The next morning, the weather reflected the mood of the crowd gathered in Winterfell’s courtyard. As Roose Bolton was led forward in his chains, the sun peeked out from the oppressive clouds. 

If Bolton wondered why Fat Walda and his other loyalists were not there, he did not ask. Those who had not been imprisoned had been forced to leave during the middle of the night. Now he stood alone. Trying to be as dignified as possible, Roose sneered at his guards and marched towards the gallows on his own.

Jon Snow waited for the prisoner by a large wooden chunk of wood. The dark brown stain of dried blood gave away the stump’s history; no doubt Lord Eddard Stark had used this place himself to meet out justice. Jon stood tall, proud that he could follow his father’s means to deal justice the way a Stark should. 

As Bolton was forced to kneel in front of Sansa and Tyrion, Jon took a deep, steadying breath. Though he hated this man for all he had done to Jon’s family and people, his father would demand that Lord Bolton’s death was swift and as painless as possible. 

Together, Sansa and Tyrion stood regally by the execution block. Staring at the man at her feet, Sansa began the pronouncement, “Lord Bolton, you stand accused of egregious crimes against the citizens of the North. For your deceitful actions, your head will be removed from your body. What are your last words?”

Roose took in the crowd before him and then sneered at her, “All actions have consequences, my Lady.”

The new Warden of the North nodded in agreement. “And some of those consequences can be put to rest, now.” She motioned for the guards to drag Bolton to her brother.  
As Bolton was wrestled over to the block and shoved down to his knees, he yelled out to the Gods, “Avenge me!”

His gaze then locked on the couple before him. Brienne and Jaime stared back at him, unimpressed, but still, Jaime moved closer to his wife. As he hugged her to his side, he whispered something in her ear. She glanced at him and nodded in agreement.

They watched as Jon Snow raised his sharp Valyrian blade, Longclaw, over the neck of the once-powerful Warden of the North. 

With a high whistling sound, the steel arced downwards and severed Bolton’s head from his shoulders cleanly. The crowd held a collective breath and savored the sudden silence. This man and his family had done many unspeakable things to people of the North, but it was over now. He was over now. 

As his head tumbled to the snow, the spell broke over the crowd, and they began to murmur and shuffle, straining to get a better look at the carnage at Jon Snow’s feet. Slowly, the crowd turned from the bloody body in the snow to their new Warden, and their eyes started questionable at Sansa as if waiting for her next command. 

Sansa took a step forward and declared, “You must excuse me for the morning. There is much reflection that I must do. Later today, I will hold a meeting with the leaders of the various Clans to discuss the allotment of promises.” 

Clearly dismissed, the crowd talked quietly to one another as they began to disperse. But there was one observer tucked away that did not feel anything when Roose Bolton had been executed. 

Hidden in the back of the courtyard, keeping to the shadows and wearing a cloak for concealment, Ramsay Bolton had watched dispassionately as his father was beheaded. 

Honestly, he was indifferent to the man who had treated him as a bastard for most his life. Though he vowed to fulfill his father’s last command for vengeance, he would do it on his own terms.

As he scanned the crowd before him, his gaze caught on the tall couple nearest the front. Their silhouetted forms seemed familiar, and he recalled where he had seen that man’s face before. He had been the one to deny him that large square of his for his pets. That meant the giantess next to him was… Ramsay sneered. 

Even if he had not been told that a handless man was Jaime Lannister and the large mannish woman was his wife, Ramsay would not have been surprised that these were the people who had destroyed his ancestral home. When he had first run into them at Winterfell all those months ago, there had been something off about them. In hindsight, he wished he had fed them to his dogs instead of letting them go. 

One more thing he could blame his father for.

He smiled when thoughts of revenge began to ferment in his twisted mind. Maybe his babies would finally be able to chase down those rabbits, after all. 

His smile became cruel. ‘This will make the hunt even more enjoyable,’ he thought, ‘first the Lady Lannister, and then her husband.’ Perhaps he would even leave some of her body parts so the Lord Lannister would have something to hold onto while his dogs ripped him to shreds.

When Lady Sansa went over to them to confer, a plan formed in Ramsay’s mind on how he could avenge the destruction of his home and his family name. As the group huddled together at the front of the crowd, Ramsay stepped further back into the shadows and continued to observe.

When the new Warden of Winterfell walked away from the Lannister couple, she and her honor guards made their way towards the gated Weirwood Grove. The Lannisters turned in the opposite direction and headed back toward the Keep.

Ramsay bit his lip, deciding. The Lannisters could wait—for now. Maybe the Lady of Winterfell deserved his attentions instead.

The young Bolton grinned. Yes, he would take his revenge on this false Warden first. But then he wondered if he could instead use her to draw out those other two. And perhaps that bastard brother of hers and her dwarf husband might also be persuaded to join in his fun. 

Once Ramsay had killed the new Warden and her most ardent protectors, the North would once again fall into disarray. He figured it would not take him long to recruit another army and take back what was rightfully his.

Yes, he vowed, this afternoon would be the perfect time to avenge his family name. But he needed help, and that was outside of the Keep.

Making certain that no one noticed him; Ramsay ducked behind a group of tethered horses. Keeping to the shadows, he circumvented around the edges of the courtyard and then headed to the busier Northern Gates of the Keep for escape. 

Mistaking Ramsay as a messenger, the harried guards left him be and went back to arguing with a visiting farmer. Ramsay scoffed at the soldiers’ gullibility; they only questioned those who wished entry, not those who were leaving.

Keeping clear of the destruction from the earlier battle, he barely acknowledged the smoldering bonfires that consumed those who had perished during the fight, his focus only on heading for the surrounding forest. 

It was so easy to evade those tracking him, especially when they thought he was miles away from here. Pleased that the skills he’d honed from his time as a stalwart hunter gave him knowledge on how not to be the prey, Ramsay slunk into the forest. 

He sneered as he recalled the night prior and how he had watched the Wildings fruitless search for him. The fools figured he would have run from his troubles instead of lingering. They did not understand that Ramsay Bolton seldom ran; he only waited for opportunities. 

Approaching a grove of trees, Ramsay smirked as he remembered how easy it had been for him to sneak back into the Keep after that disastrous loss to the Starks the other day. Jon Snow’s departure to greet his sister after the surrender had thrown the Keep into confusion. The bedlam of so many people coming and going had provided a perfect cover for Ramsay to head to the kennels and get his four best dogs. It had not been difficult to grab his human plaything that had been hiding in the cages, as well. 

Sneaking the group away from the Keep held some minor difficulty, though. The courtyard had been full with new arrivals, but the smaller east gate had been left unguarded. Once they had gotten that open, they had raced to the safety of the nearby forest. After making sure they were well hidden from the Wilding trackers, Ramsay had gone back to Winterfell to keep a close eye on his newest enemies.

Now Ramsay cautiously approached where he had left his dogs and companion. Spying Reek cowering behind a barren tree, Ramsay ignored him, his focus only on his babies.   
They growled angrily and lunged from the tree they had been tethered to. Even his dogs wanted revenge. Releasing them, they flocked to his side, playfully nipping at his trouser legs in a show of love and devotion, “Soon my babies. Soon all will suffer for their actions.”

He finally acknowledged Reek and triumphantly boasted to his timid companion, “Come along, Reek. We best be near the Keep for any possible openings for revenge.” He patted the largest dog’s side, causing a solid thumping sound as his hand met bunched muscled. “And I have a good feeling that today my pets will eat most fine.”

Fearfully, Theon followed his master. 

*

After Bolton’s execution, Sansa approached Jaime and Brienne. Though resolve was reflected in her gaze, Brienne could see tiredness there as well. She knew that Sansa had barely slept over the past few nights. Glancing around the courtyard, Brienne could tell the Warden was in like company. By the look of those wandering aimlessly about, it appeared Sansa was not the only sleep-deprived individual amongst them. Brienne mused that if the crowd in the courtyard happened to yawn all at once, their collective inhale might well swallow the low-hanging sun whole. 

Brienne looked down at Tyrion, who stared dully at the ground. She supposed that since everyone had spent the night celebrating, she and Jaime were the only ones who had gotten any real sleep. 

She focused back on her young friend who swayed slightly before her. Brienne lightly grasped Sansa’s arm to help steady her. “My lady, you should rest.” 

After shaking her head ‘no,’ Sansa smiled gratefully, and Brienne knew that the new Warden had a lot to think about. It was not just the Clans and Wildings harping about receiving their fair share; Brienne knew that this adventure to return Sansa safely home had also taxed the young girl. 

Brienne did not envy the young woman’s predicament. She wanted to confer with Sansa as to how she could help her with the afternoon’s gathering of Clans and Wildings.   
There were many factions to appease, and every one of them believed they deserved more than the others.

That was not to mention a far less pleasant topic to broach with Sansa. The young woman’s budding romance with Podrick was a burr in Brienne’s side. She could never bring it up with so many witnesses present, but something needed to be said before word got back to the Hand about the new Warden’s illicit dalliances with a man who was not her husband.

Hesitant for only a moment, Brienne said, “I know there is still a lot that must be dealt with. May I be of assistance?” 

Nodding, Sansa patted Brienne on the arm and told her, “Yes, of course, there is much to discuss, but later. First, I would like to meditate on a few things. Seek me out by the Weirwood Grove in a few hours, and then you can tell me what is really on your mind.”

Brienne gulped. “Thank you, my Lady.” 

With a knowing smile, Sansa dipped her head and left them. Her three personal guards quickly formed behind her and followed her to the Weirwood patch.   
Brienne stared at their retreating forms with concern, but her attention was pulled away when Jaime squeezed her hand. 

He looked at her with worry in his own eyes, and she forced a smile to her lips. Kissing her palm, Jaime pulled her away, and together they made their way back to their chambers. They may have gotten more rest than the others last night, but they still had weeks of sleep deprivation to make up for. 

*

A few hours later, Brienne woke with a start. As she loudly gasped for breath, her gaze darted about the chamber. It took her a moment to remember where she was. Relaxing, she glanced over at her slumbering husband. It seemed that not even her abrupt stirring could awaken him this time.

Glancing at the low sunlight that streamed in through the window, Brienne recalled that she had a meeting with Lady Sansa in the Weirwood Grove and hoped she had not overslept.

So as not to jostle the bed, she carefully swung her legs over to one side and rested her feet on the cold floor. As she began to rise, Jaime’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm. His voice was muffled as he tried to tug her back into bed beside him. “Stay wench; I miss your warmth already.”

Chuckling, she reluctantly pulled away. “I promised Lady Sansa that I would talk to her about the upcoming meeting regarding the Clans.” She sighed as she stood and began to dress. She did not look forward to what else she must confer with the young Warden about. “Besides, I need to discuss the relationship between her and Pod. The Weirwood Grove may be the only secluded place left for us speak in private.” 

Jaime stared blurrily at her as she cinched her sword belt around her hips. She made sure that it was not too tight and that the loose clothes hid her slight stomach bulge. After she had tucked her ornate dagger in her boot, she brushed the creases out of her new clothes. Though they were large on her, they were comfortable, and it felt nice to be no longer in dirty, bloodstained clothing.

“Then come back to me soon, my beloved.” There was a teasing lilt to Jaime’s tone.

Grinning, she dipped her head in acknowledgment. After donning a warm, fur-lined cloak, she leaned over and quickly kissed his lips. “Get some rest. When I come back, I promise to warm you up properly.” She winked at him, and he groaned.

As he rubbed the blanketed area over his groin, he asked, “How do you expect me to fall back asleep now?”

With a laugh, she said, “You had better, or there will be no warm greeting for you later.”

He chuckled at her threat and tried to stifle a yawn. After waiting for him to close his eyes, Brienne quietly shut the door behind her.

*

Making her way out of the main building, Brienne pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as the cold slammed suddenly into her. Ruefully, she was reminded that she would always be a Stormlands child at heart. And she could not wait to get back to the temperate weather of the south—she would take rain over snow any day.

Cutting across the crowded courtyard, she passed Wildings and Clansmen practicing sword work and neared the entrance to the gated Weirwood Grove. Unlike the well-trodden walkway that led to Winterfell’s main structure, the path into the Weirwood Grove was still ankle-deep with snow. 

Brienne could make out the various boot indentations where Sansa and her guards had walked. She was relieved to see that the direction of the tracks went into the copse of sacred woods and not out of them, so she had not missed her after all.

Trekking deeper into the enclosed wooded acreage, Brienne marveled at the size of the trees and how their tall, thick limbs blocked out most of the sky. It was a pleasant, secluded patch of woods, and Brienne was not surprised that Lady Sansa would seek it out for privacy. 

As she approached the personal guards, she saw the leader’s hand automatically go to the hilt of his blade. Recognizing her, he dipped his head at her and relaxed his stance. Nodding cordially to him, Brienne wondered how he felt being the last of the original six guards who had been assigned to Sansa.

Getting closer, she did not recognize the two other guards with him. She knew they were Stark loyalists, though. Lady Sansa had not wanted to use the Wildings that Jon had assigned her in fear that it would look like preferential treatment. It was already a tenuous détente between the Clans and the Wildings, and Brienne suspected that Sansa did not want to appear partisan to anyone until the ‘spoils’ had been doled out.

She supposed she should be grateful that Sansa took someone else as her guard; otherwise, she and Jaime would have been the ones standing in the chill of the mid-afternoon.   
Brienne walked over to them, and with a jerk of his head, the lead guard indicated where their charge could be found. Following his gaze, Brienne saw that Sansa was tucked further in the copse of woods, kneeling in front of the largest Weirwood tree. A mournful face had been carved into the trunk of this ancient tree, and Brienne figured this must be the Heart Tree.

Respectful of her privacy, Brienne stayed with the guards so as not to disturb Sansa’s meditation. Casting a studied gaze over to the young woman, Brienne marveled at the massive size of the Weirwood that dwarfed Sansa. It had to be one of the biggest trees she had ever seen. She imagined that in the spring, the full foliage would make the tree appear even more imposing, but even with only its bare limbs in winter, it was a breathtaking sight. 

Lady Sansa appeared to be in a deep trance, so Brienne leaned back against a smaller Weirwood tree and waited. They had time.

*

Relaxing under the regal, thick limbs of the Heart Tree, Sansa had lost all track of time. That morning, she had felt an urge to visit the sacred grove. It almost seemed as if it was calling to her, and she remembered the lore regarding these trees that her father had told her about long ago. She would have scoffed, except that the tug had lulled somewhat during the execution of Roose Bolton. But afterward that pull was so strong; she feared she would have been dragged from the spot.

Fully awakening from her meditative state, she lightly rested her hand on the truck of the tree. She could not be sure, but it was almost as if her brother, Bran’s presence, was there around her, enveloping her in love and support.

With a peaceful exhale, she pulled back, feeling more refreshed than she had in months. Behind her, she heard the crunch of boots meeting the snow. By the sound of the approaching steps, she knew that it was Lady Brienne. The older woman’s voice sounded cautious as she asked, “Lady Sansa, a word?”

Sansa smiled warmly at the taller woman. As she stood, she dusted the light coating of snow off her dress and cloak. “Lady Brienne. Is it time already? I thought you would still be in bed with your husband.”

She hid her smile when Brienne’s blush momentarily beat back the cold of winter.

Before Brienne could say anything, Sansa teased, “We could have waited to discuss the parceling out of properties until later. You and your husband deserve some much-needed alone time.”

Sansa wasn’t surprised that Brienne’s blush grew even deeper.

“Erm, yes,” Brienne stammered and then tugged on the fastening of her fur cloak as if to loosen it. “There was something that I needed to talk to you about, and I did not want anyone to overhear.” Brienne could barely meet Sansa’s gaze.

Sansa frowned at Brienne’s guarded look. Before she could ask, a Wilding page rushed up to them, “Lady Sansa, the leader of the First Flints would like a word with you.”

Sansa sighed, “Please inform him that I am still unavailable—”

The young man persisted, “But my Lady, he is most insistent—”

Obviously peeved at the interruption and lack of conduct, Brienne hissed, “You heard her. Do as your Warden commands.”

The Wilding strained as if contemplating if he should attack the warrior woman. Sighing, Sansa understood Jon’s reasoning for wanting to train Wildings as pages. But she was also realistic in knowing that they would resent those who bent the knee. She did not doubt there would be resistance in learning proper etiquette when it came to dealing with the nobility.

Brienne took a menacing step towards the insolent lad. Staring him down, the abashed page slinked off. 

But before they could continue talking, they heard the approach of more boots and were soon surrounded by people. It seemed as if the entire group of Clansmen had decided to band together and that now was the time to talk. Their expectant murmurs rose as they regarded the new Warden eagerly.

Sansa tried to sound cordial when she addressed them, “I promise that I will discuss rewards later. But something more pressing must be attended to now.” Still, they refused to leave, and Sansa felt Brienne tense next to her.

Worried that her friend had taken this slight as an offense and teach them some manners, Sansa took the crook of Brienne’s right arm in hers. With a curt bob of her head to indicate she was done, Sansa then led them out of a nearby wooden side gate. Trudging back into the courtyard of Winterfell, she hoped to lose them. She sighed inwardly when the Clansmen still followed. It seemed that more drastic measures were needed to attain some form of privacy and she aimed for the closest exit from the Keep.

As Sansa and Brienne hastily left through the Northern gates, Sansa motioned to her personal guards. Quickly, they moved forward to block anyone that tried to get an audience with the new Warden.

Nodding her gratitude, she pulled Brienne towards a larger copse of trees to the east of Winterfell. After the disgruntled Clansmen had dispersed, the three personal guards trotted to catch up with the Warden.

Entering the woods, Sansa assured Brienne, “I am sure we will no longer be disturbed, my lady.” Still, the warrior woman’s hesitancy to talk had Sansa figuring she still did not feel safe enough, so Sansa led them deeper into the surrounding forest. She hoped that it would be considered private enough that Brienne felt comfortable to talk.

Brienne’s long gait easily matched Sansa’s hurried one. Behind them, Sansa’s three guards followed them at a discreet distance. 

Over her shoulder, Brienne called out to them, “I can protect her now. Stay here and make sure no one follows us.”

The two women ignored the guards’ answering grunts, and as they continued hiking deeper into the forest, the men stayed behind.

They walked on for a bit, but still, Brienne did not say anything. Though the woman from Tarth was normally quiet around others, Sansa knew that Lord Jaime often sought out her prudent advice. And she had found from her own dealings with her that Brienne’s guidance had been most helpful during their time up North.

Finally, Sansa prodded her, “I thought you already knew that you could tell me anything, Brienne. You are one of the few people I trust enough to call a friend.”

As they meandered further into the woods, Brienne admitted, “Thank you, Sansa. The feeling is mutual.” She loudly exhaled, “Frankly, you are in a hard situation, my Lady. I know you love someone other than your lord husband.”

Sansa stiffened, and Brienne hastily added, “And I understand some of what you are going through. Three times my father tried to marry me off to anyone who would take me. Though different in some ways, I know the feeling of having no control over one’s life and heart.”

Trying to hide the bitterness from her tone, Sansa mocked, “And yet look at you now, good sister. Blissfully in love and married to a Lannister.” Sansa railed at the unfairness of it all. Why could she not for once get what she wanted? Instead, it was duty this and honor that. 

Brienne cleared her throat, “If I were the high-born woman my father wished me to be, I would have been forced to wed the first man my father could find who would have taken me as his. It is not a fair situation, but for the North to be strong, you must show a united front with Tyrion.” 

Sansa heard the sorrow in Brienne’s voice and bit back the urge to yell that it was none of her business who she spent time with. Instead, she spat, “It will be a loveless marriage.” 

Why couldn’t she get the happy ending that her friend had? Instead, she was stuck in some ruse alliance, married to a man not known for his valor. She wanted a gallant champion to sweep her off her feet, which was impossible when her husband was so short. 

Sansa held back her sudden shudder, “I do not wish to bed Tyrion. Especially not after—” Her thoughts turned to the young man whom she had spent so much time with recently on Tarth. Podrick had been so kind and rather shy when it came to lovemaking. But he was attentive to her needs, and he made sure that Sansa knew that he cared for her. Why just this morning he had given her a flower he’d found among the patches of snow. It was a simple gift from a gentle young man.

Hearing her wistful tone, Brienne curtly nodded and stated, “But it would be difficult to hold power any other way. Lord Tywin could use your relationship as an excuse to start a war.”

Sansa stamped her boots hard into the snowy ground as they crested a small hill. In the distance, they could hear a nearby river. “Yes, I know what we have to present to others, but I do not love Tyrion.”

Shyly, the Lady of Casterly Rock asked, “Do you hate him?”

Sansa sighed, “No, he has always been kind to me.” 

Before she could respond further, they heard a low, masculine chuckle sound behind them. Spinning around, Brienne’s hand instantly rested on the pommel of Oathkeeper.  
She was about to call out to the guards when Ramsay Bolton stepped out from the shadow of the trees. “Do not bother, my lady. I have already taken care of your guards. I do not wish for anyone to intrude on us.”

As Brienne hissed and pulled free Oathkeeper, she grabbed Sansa’s arm and began to tug the young woman behind her. 

Ramsay made a tsking sound and raised a notched crossbow, the deadly bolt pointed right at Sansa. 

“Stay where you are. True, my aim may miss her heart, but their teeth won’t.” He dipped his head to the side, and Brienne heard the deep growls of Ramsay’s beasts come up behind them. A meek-looking man was pulled forward into view by four of the largest dogs Brienne had ever seen. He could barely hold onto the leashes that kept the ferocious creatures from charging at them. 

Neither woman could keep fear out of their expressions, for the dogs were huge and clearly ravenous. 

Ramsay’s smile grew coy. “My advice is not to make any sudden movements. I have not allowed my babies to eat, so if you run now, they might mistake you for prey.” 

Trying to control the fear that raged through her, Brienne fleetingly wondered why no one had heard these beasts approach. Could it true? Had this horrible man killed Sansa’s guards? How had this vile man even tracked them down? Shouldn’t he be halfway through the Neck by now? She had assumed that with the Dreadfort gone, he had no reason to stay in North.

The snarling became fiercer; these four beasts scared Brienne as much as the bear at Harrenhal had. And like the bear, they would tear her limb from limb if they got to her. All Brienne could focus on was their sharp teeth that snapped as loudly as cracking branches. She could not help but stare at the largest one, the one with the huge jaw and strong shoulders.

Ramsay chuckled when he realized where her gaze was aimed. “Yes, this beautiful bitch is the mother to the pack you killed back at the Dreadfort. I wonder if she knows that it was you who killed her pups.”

The dog whined, trying to free itself and get at Brienne. Ramsay’s gleeful laugh changed to a snarl of accusation. “I owe you and your husband for destroying my ancestral home, my lady. I have not forgotten that debt.” 

His attention snapped to Sansa. “But do not fear, Lady Sansa. Your friend will not be alone in her death. You destroyed my family’s good name and took my rightful place as Warden of the North.”

Sansa stood tall and was about to say something to him when she suddenly recognized the cowering figure struggling to hold the beasts back. “Theon?”

The hunched-over man squeaked, and his haunted gaze flicked to Ramsay.

Proudly, Ramsay stated, “He only answers to Reek now.”

Sansa gasped, horrified, “You’re insane.”

As Ramsay chuckled at the insult, Brienne tensed herself to fight. She gripped Oathkeeper more firmly in her hand and started to whisper to Sansa, “When I say run—”

Ramsay admonished to them, “Not so fast, ladies. I do not think you can outrun my dogs.” He ordered Brienne, “Drop the sword and the belt or watch my dogs rip your Warden to shreds.” 

Brienne weighed their options. Their guards were surely dead, or they would have come to investigate the sound of snarling by now. She quickly glanced over at Sansa and noticed that her skirts dragged along the ground, the hems heavy with snow and mud. Brienne knew she could not carry her in her current condition, even if the strange man named Reek managed to hold the dogs back. With no other choice, she did as she was ordered, her steely gaze never leaving the madman in front of her. 

Ramsay chuckled at the ferocity of her glare. “Oh, such anger,” he mocked. “I was right that you would be a challenging rabbit for my pets. They so seldom get to hunt worthy prey.” 

Brienne flinched at his words, and her eyes darted back to the large, salivating lead dog once again.

Pleased with himself, Ramsay continued, “Now that you are ready, we are going to play a little game. I think you will like it. It is called ‘Try not to get eaten.’ I will be sporting, though, and give you both a few minutes’ head start. Must not let my babies catch you too soon, there is no fun in that.” He patted the largest dog’s flanks, and it yipped happily in response. “Now run, rabbits!”

As he started to count, Brienne and Sansa tried to circumvent around him so they could race back to the safety of Winterfell.

Ramsay raised the crossbow higher, “Now, now. No cheating by retreating home. Go on, run!”

He continued to count down. With no choice, they turned and raced deeper into the woods. Brienne should not have been concerned about Sansa keeping up with her; the Warden simply hiked up her skirts and bolted as fast as Brienne did, propriety be damned.

Panting, they trudged through the ankle-high snow, making for the thickest part of the trees. Nearing an old, lightning-scarred tree, Sansa made a beeline for it. “We can hide up there.” 

Nodding, Brienne looked up at the tree’s large size. It would be an excellent place for one of them to hide among the thick, crisscrossing branches where Ramsay’s mutts could not reach.

Brienne helped Sansa climb up to the taller branches. “Continue to where the branches thicken so he can’t see you.”

Brienne knew that while one of them might be able to hide up there, two of them would be pressing their luck. Ramsay would soon realize that they had not run on, and the bastard’s crossbow would easily make short work of them. 

With an exhale of resolving, Brienne figured it would be best if she led man and beasts away from Sansa. Hearing the barking near, she turned to flee deeper into the woods. 

Seeing that Brienne was not following her up, Sansa hissed down at her, “Hurry, I will help pull you up!”

“No, both of us will be trapped if I do so. It would not take him long to pick us off with that crossbow of his. I will draw them away instead, and then you can race back to Winterfell and send for reinforcements.” 

Before Sansa could argue with her, Brienne retreated into the trees, just as the pursuing dogs came into view. Sansa ducked back into the thick branches that easily hid her presence.

*

With thoughts of never seeing Jaime again, anger overwhelmed the fear that nearly paralyzed Brienne. It was Jaime and the threat to her unborn child which caused her to run faster. Hearing the river nearby, she headed towards it. She hoped to be able to wade across it and lose the dogs. 

Still, she heard the dogs deep, whining pants as they raced behind her, and she knew that they were gaining on her. With a grunt of determination, she pushed herself to slog faster through the snow. 

Nearing the river, her feet kicked aside loose rocks and ice with a sound like striking blades. The larger rocks were slippery from the wet snow, and her footing slid as she scrambled closer to the water. The river churned violently, and she wondered if the current would sweep her away. She would not last long in water that swift and cold. 

She quickly glanced behind her and cursed. It did not matter now—it was too late to attempt to cross; they were nearly upon her. Instead, she whipped off her cloak. 

As the first dog hurtled down the river bank toward her, Brienne spun around with her cloak open and caught the bounding animal in it. She swung it around and flung it hard onto the rocky ground. The dog lets out a yelp of pain and lays unmoving on the rocks. 

Brienne did not wait to see if it would stand up again. She whirled around to confront the next beast, snatching the ornate dagger from her boot as she turned.

She twisted to the side just as the dog leapt for her face. She punched its side, and her dagger slashed upwards in a swift, bloody follow through. With a shriek, the dog crashed into the damp ground at her feet, dead. 

She turned to engage the third mutt, but it was too fast. Its teeth latched on to the wrist that clutched the dagger. The dog’s jaws were like an iron vice, and it shook its head violently until Brienne dropped the blade in a holler of pain. Enraged, she struck its snout with her other fist, hard enough to stun it into releasing her, and then she kicked the animal to the side. 

The last beast was the large bitch, and it hung back at the top of the riverbank as if lying in wait. When the other three dogs did not move, the bitch snarled and slunk down the bank. Brienne chanced a glance at the ground in search of her dagger, but it had been flung too far away from her reach. 

She looked up just in time to see the bitch lunge at her. Brienne raised her hands as the large dog slammed hard into her, knocking her onto her back. It snapped at her face, and Brienne instinctively shoved her right hand into its biting maw. She splayed her fingers and pushed her hand far back into the beast’s throat. Her other hand came up and held the dog’s jaw open so it could not chomp down on her hand. 

The bitch bucked against her, pinning her to the cold, icy ground.

No longer dazed, the third dog stood back up and started circling them. Brienne tried to keep an eye on it as the big bitch jerked and struggled against her. Suddenly, it charged and bit one of her kicking legs, just above the ankle. Brienne roared from the pain. Bellowing loudly, she kicked it off her with a hard blow from her booted foot until it scurried away. 

The next time it attacked, the beast came in low, aiming to bite at the soft underbelly of its prey. Brienne gasped when she felt a paw at her stomach. She tried to curl in to protect herself, but the large bitch on top of her prevented her from doing so.

Too late, Brienne realized that these two beasts had worked in tandem to take her down, and they would not cease until she was dead. 

Brienne let out a single, muffled cry of anguish. But she knew it would go unanswered in this deserted forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos and the wonderful comments.
> 
> This is such an amazing and supportive fandom that I feel blessed to be a part of.
> 
> And sorry for the cliffie ;-)


	22. Healing

With an anguished cry, Brienne felt the two dogs renew their attack, and she knew she did not have long before they wore her down. Still, she fought back, she would never give up. Fleeting thoughts of never seeing Jaime again, and of the small life she carried within being threatened, gave her strength to persevere, but she was tiring. She needed a miracle. Silently, she prayed to the Gods for help.

The dog she had a hold of suddenly shook its head violently and dislodged her grasp. Yanking its head back, it glared down at her, and saliva dripped from its barred, gleaming canines. Brienne’s fearful blue eyes gazed into the dark brown orbs that seemed to accuse her of killing its pups.

Growling low, it prepared for its final assault. This time, Brienne knew she would not be able to stop this determined beast.

Suddenly, there was an echo of a familiar battle cry and a large man crashed into the smaller dog at her legs. 

The big bitch above her was momentarily distracted, and Brienne took the opportunity to grab the dog by the muzzle with both hands. Her fingers were slippery with the dog’s saliva and her own blood, but a resolute Brienne gripped the bitch’s jaw tighter. With a primal scream of rage, she dug her fingertips into the soft flesh of the dog’s mouth and yanked its gaping jaws apart in a spray of blood. 

The dog let out a sound like a dying rabbit and collapsed on top of Brienne, unmoving. Panting from the effort and terror, Brienne fell back against the muddy ground.

There was a canine yelp off to her right, and Brienne remembered the man who had saved her. She rolled her head and saw that his large hunting knife was sticking in the belly of one the smaller dogs. Still disorientated, Brienne watched as he tugged it from the dog’s body with a grunt before turning to look at her. 

It took a moment, but Brienne finally recognized him. Her mind muddled from the dog attack, she gasped, “Lord Wull—? But how—”

After a hearty laugh, Lord Wull shoved the dead bitch off her. He reached down and pulled Brienne to her feet. Shivering from the attack, she winced as she tried to put pressure on her wounded ankle. Tucking her bleeding wrist under her opposite arm to protect it, she stared agog at the jovial man before her. 

Now feeling the adrenaline wearing off, she knew her wounds would soon change from numbness to excruciating. All she wanted to do now was lie down and sleep.  
“It was not so hard to lose those Wilding escorts of mine. I know this area too well from my time hunting with Eddard Stark in our youth.” As he helped steady her, he explained, “Before heading south, I wanted to confer with the Old Ones one last time.” 

Wull grinned, embarrassed, and said, “I was planning on doing so, but I fell asleep in these woods before I could sneak into Winterfell.” He studied her carefully. “And in my dreams, a brown-haired boy told me to hurry to your aid.” 

Brienne could hardly keep track of what was going on, the aftermath of the assault was making it difficult to focus, and she frowned at such a statement. Sure, she had heard of the mystical stories about the weirwoods and the area surrounding them, but that sounded a bit farfetched to her, even with her jumbled brain. Then she recalled the shadow of Stannis killing Renly before her eyes and stopped questioning that possibility. 

What a surprising, amazing world they lived in, Brienne thought distractedly. 

But manners pushed aside her wonder and she replied shakily, “Thank you for your timely rescue.” Though his act did not absolve him of his culpability for the massacre of innocents at the Dreadfort, he had saved her life. She personally owed him a blood debt. 

“My pleasure, Lady Brienne.” He hooked his large hands in his weapons belt and grinned at her. “Maybe a kind word to our Warden on your behalf will help in getting my banishment rescinded.”

Frowning, Brienne nodded absently. Instead of stating that she doubted his actions would help sway the Warden to change her ruling, she said noncommittally, “Once we get Lady Sansa to safety, you can bring that up with her. We must hurry though; Ramsay Bolton is hunting her even as we stand here speaking.”

“Ah, that is where these beasts came from.” Wull nudged the dead bitch with his foot. “Well, this was just what I needed to invigorate me. Though it was not as exhilarating as our actions against the Dreadfort, heh, my lady?” 

Suddenly, a nearby roar shook Brienne from her disarrayed thoughts. She flinched when she heard the heavy footfalls trampling the snowy ground behind her, weary that Ramsay had released another beast that would soon be upon her.

Before she could turn towards the growling form that crashed through the forest underbrush, Brienne started in surprise as a crossbow bolt pierced through Wull’s throat, nearly severing his head from his body. 

Shocked, Brienne teetered as she pivoted and watched as the enraged Ramsay quickly ratcheted back another bolt into his crossbow and then aimed it at her. Thankfully, there were no other dogs around him, but staring at the volatile young man reminded Brienne that beasts come in various sizes and skins.

Glancing about for any escape routes, she fleetingly wondered where that strange companion of his was. Usually, he never strayed far from his master.

The vengeful Ramsay kicked Wull’s feet and sneered down at the dead man, “So you are the Clan leader who led the raid against my home. I shall skin the flesh from your bones to hang in my halls.” 

He then noticed his dead dogs lying strewn on the rocky ground and howled in outrage. The sound of the river dulled around them as a spitting mad Ramsay lumbered closer to Brienne, the loaded crossbow shaking in his tight grasp. “You bitch! You killed my babies!”

Fearlessly, Brienne glared at him. Even in pain and shock, she drew herself up to her full height. If she were going to die, then she would do it standing tall with a defiant sneer on her lips.

Surprisingly, the psychotic bastard laughed at her cold glare. “What no pleading?” He raised the crossbow eye-level with her face. “I wish we could draw this out. I bet that with enough time I could even force you to take their place as my queen bitch.” He nodded at the dead beast that laid nearby, “You certainly deserve it for killing my babies. But I know that it will not be long before others come searching for you, and there is still much to do before they get here.”

Belligerently she snarled, “You will be found and killed, not matter where you run.” She glanced at Wull’s cold body, angered that she could not avenge his death. 

Ramsay smirked, “Perhaps, or maybe once Lady Sansa is dead, I shall build an army to take back what is rightfully mine.” His mouth twisted in a sick grin of pleasure. “Well, though I enjoyed this sport, I would like time to enjoy Lady Sansa, too. Maybe she will become my queen bitch instead.” He chuckled at the thought, and Brienne clenched her fists tighter, making the blood from her wounded wrist drip faster.

Ramsay steadied his hand on the crossbow and pointed it between Brienne’s eyes. She stared him down, intent on dying with dignity in the face of such a craven. Ramsay only smirked and made to lodge a bolt into Brienne’s stoic form when he suddenly made a startled choking sound. In shock, the Bolton heir fell forward against Brienne and then tumbled to the ground where he lay face down, unmoving at her feet. Dead.

Sansa Stark stood quivering in the space Ramsay had occupied just a moment before. Brienne’s ornate dagger was now lodged deep in Ramsay’s back. 

Still surprised, Brienne watched the young woman pale before her eyes, “Lady Sansa—?”

Sansa trembled, and Brienne figured that this must have been her first kill. 

The young woman stared at Wull’s body. “I saw him saving your life.” With a tired sigh, Sansa explained, “I wish I could have been quick enough to spare him one of Ramsay’s bolts. It seems I now owe his family another debt.”

She looked at Brienne’s shuddering and bleeding form and frowned in concern. “I think we should get you back to the Keep.”

Brienne nodded and Sansa came over to help her. As Sansa propped Brienne’s uninjured arm around her shoulders, they heard movement behind them. Turning, they watched aghast as Ramsay’s dead body began to twitch and writhe. They stared in horror when Ramsay rolled over and sat up, his motions jerky like a marionette.

His eyes sprang open, and his once cruel brown eyes had become the bright, haunting blue of an Other. Staring at them, a sick leer crossed his pale lips as he rose. For him to be animated this quickly, it must mean that a White Walker was in the vicinity, and Brienne glanced around fearfully.

Watching Ramsay’s transformation reminded her of the wight she and Jaime had fought at the beginning of their journey. Her stomach dropped sickeningly; she knew this wight would be just as tenacious as that one had been. 

Sansa and Brienne took a hesitant step back as Ramsay began to lurch towards them. His cold fingers flexed out towards them, sharp as daggers. Brienne put herself between Ramsay’s wight and Sansa, her exhaustion momentarily abated in the presence of this new threat.

“My Gods,” Sansa exclaimed as Ramsay shuffled towards them. “This is what my brother warned me about?”

“Yes, my lady,” said Brienne hurriedly. “You need to leave and get help. Tell Jon that their influence now reaches this far south. Or worse, that there is a White Walkers in our midst. Perhaps that is why Ramsay turned so quickly.” She glanced over at the prone body of Wull, but with his head nearly severed, he lay unmoving.

Sansa shook her head. “I won’t leave you this time. You are in no shape to face it alone.”

Making sure that Sansa stayed behind her, Brienne hobbled backward, her gaze never leaving the man who shambled after them. Through gritted teeth, she motioned for Sansa to run away. “But you must go. I cannot protect you and fight him at the same time. Get help, my lady.” 

Even though the creature was slow, Brienne knew that in her state she could never outrun it. But she could distract it. She looked around for Wull’s weapon, but it was lost in the muck and mire of the riverbank. Her own beloved dagger was still stuck in the approaching bastard’s back.

Ramsay backed them towards the shore of the freezing river, and Brienne knew she was too weak to fight the strong rapids to attempt a crossing now.

The wight seemed to realize that they were trapped, and it smiled maliciously at them. Brienne’s foot skidded over a slick rock and she steadied herself, her gaze never leaving the wight. Behind her, Sansa splashed into the shallow icy waters of the river, her breath hissing between her teeth at the cold.

Now just an arm’s reach away, the wight raised its clawed hands and lunged at them.

Before he could connect, Oathkeeper’s blade suddenly swung true and lopped off the bastard’s head. They watched as it tumbled away and the headless body crumpled motionless to the ground. Reek stood behind the headless corpse, panting and looking crazy-eyed.

As if waking from a trance, he dropped the blade and took a quick step back from them. Brienne staggered over and picked up her sacred blade. She pointed the sword in the direction of the tattered-clothed man. Her hand shook from exhaustion and relief, barely able to hold up the heavy blade.

Frowning, Sansa pushed past Brienne and approached the man, “Theo…Theon?”

Sansa went to touch him, but Brienne cautioned her, “My lady, best stay back.” 

Sansa halted. She almost pitied the broken man before her; he had been part of her family once, almost a friend. But he had killed Bran and Rickon. Sansa’s eyes grew cold.

Seeking something to arm herself with, Sansa bent and yanked the ornate dagger from Ramsay’s body. She then cast a wary eye at Lord Wulls unmoving form. “You do not fear him coming back?” She asked Brienne.

Brienne stared at the corpse dully, “No, my lady. It seems that near decapitation prevents reanimation. That and burning the corpses.”

Sansa nodded, “Good.” Determined, she then stood taller and addressed Brienne and Theon, “Come; we best get back inside the safety of Winterfell before any more surprises appear.” She had no wish to meet a White Walker if one was nearby.

Brienne motioned for Reek—the man Sansa had named Theon—to go first. She carefully slid her blade through her belt; she’d have to track down the scabbard later. She took a tentative step forward on her hurt ankle and cried out, nearly falling. Tiredly, she leaned against a nearby tree. “Best you send someone back to get me, my lady.”

Seeing the state she was in, Sansa propped Brienne’s left arm over her shoulder. “Nonsense. You yourself believe that a White Walker is lurking nearby and there is no way you could defend yourself now. We must hasten back together.” 

Brienne nodded her gratitude, and all three began to slowly make their way back to the safety of Winterfell. 

As they hobbled along, Brienne gazed down at Sansa. Seeing the young woman’s introspective stare, Brienne spoke low to Sansa, her eyes never leaving the back of the man walking before them. “Was that your first kill?”

The Lady of Winterfell glanced at her bloody hands and clothing. “By my hand, yes.”

Brienne was curious as to what sort of machinations Sansa had done in the past, but then realized she was relieved that Sansa could play the game so well as that. But it also made her sad that Sansa had to kill at such a young age.

As they walked, the pain and shock from her injuries made itself known, and all such concerns left Brienne. She could not stop shuddering as she revisited the images of the dogs attacking her, her wrist and ankle throbbing in sympathy to her mental anguish. And to watch helplessly as Ramsay Bolton’s reanimated corpse came at them by the river; she would have run from the North if she’d had the energy.

Biting her lip, Sansa glanced back where Ramsay’s body lay, weary at what she had done. She wondered if he would not be the last one she would have to kill with her bare hands.

Theon paused, too, and looked behind them towards the river. Sansa could not tell what he was thinking as his eyes searched the bank to and fro. In a moment, his expression shuttered, and he turned back toward Winterfell. 

*

The guards manning the East Gate leaned against the wooden entry, bored. Hearing someone approach, they straightened and stood at the ready. Surprise registered on their features when they took in the bedraggled trio that tottered towards them.

Lady Sansa had Lady Brienne propped against her shoulder, helping the larger woman limp along. Blood dripped from the giantess’s wounds, and she left a trail of red dots behind in the trampled snow. Instantly, the guards raced over to assist them. 

The lead guard called out to the nearby barracks, “To arms, the Warden has been hurt!”

Sansa nodded in gratitude when two of the guards at the gate relieved her of her heavy burden. Brienne grimaced in pain and muttered her thanks to the guards.

Men swelled from the barracks to heed the commands. Sansa waved off their concerns, “I am fine, but there is a chance we will be under attack.” As they were surrounded by more guards, Sansa ordered, “Recall all scouting party’s and put more men on the battlements.” Thankfully they had not been attacked by the reanimated corpses of her three guards that Ramsay had killed, but there was still that threat.

As the men rushed to do what she’d instructed, Sansa addressed the two soldiers who held Brienne. “Take Lady Brienne immediately to her chambers.” 

Snapping her fingers at a loitering Wilding boy, she commanded, “Have the Maester meet us in her room.” The Wilding bobbed his head and raced off.

Sansa turned and noticed the cowering Theon. Pity flicked across her features, but then she aimed a stern scowl at the man who had killed her brothers. His act of betrayal against her family stung now as it had all those years ago. 

Theon flinched at her look but waited for her judgment. He looked frightened to be surrounded by so many soldiers. 

Sansa spoke low to those guards, “Take him to the main chambers. I will deal with him shortly.” 

Seeing one of the soldiers heading in the direction of Jon’s location, Sansa said to him, “You do not need to fetch Lord Commander Snow. I will do so.” She noticed the few guards that were clamoring up the stairs to man the battlements and frowned, “And, I want more soldiers on the walls. It seems that winter has decided to make an early appearance, so keep an eye out for wrights and other dead things.” 

With that worrisome message, Sansa then headed towards Jon’s chambers, while the two guards helped Brienne into the main Keep.

*

Jaime was having a marvelous dream. One that involved his wench and a delicious apple pie that he enjoyed immensely as he licked it off her delectable body. 

He awoke to the door crashing open and his wife being helped into their room by two burly guards. Instantly he shook free the dullness of sleep when he saw her bloody wounds and disheveled appearance. “My Gods, Brienne!” He exclaimed, “Are you alright?”

She ignored him and indicated for the guards to deliver her into a nearby chair. Before she sat, one of the men removed Oathkeeper from her belt and propped it against the bed.

Frowning at her lack of response, Jaime ordered the guards, “Put her to bed, not there.” 

“I don’t want to get it dirty,” she snapped obstinately at him. As the guards carefully lowered her to sit on the chair, she hissed upon contact. Jaime sent them away with a curt request for hot water and clean cloths. 

He was only momentarily taken aback by her answer. Instead of arguing with her, he went to her side. He knew that the more she felt things out of her control, the more stubborn she became. 

Jaime also noticed that Brienne could not stop shaking, her gaze distant, and he feared she was going into shock. He grasped her non-injured hand in his, and lightly squeezed it for comfort. His stump caressed her cheek, and her eyes shifted to him. When her lips trembled, he nearly grabbed Oathkeeper and went on a rampage. When he caught whomever had done this to her—

She tried to pull away, but Jaime refused to let go of her hand. “What happened?”

“We ran into some trouble.” Her tone tried to belay calm, but Jaime knew her well enough to know that she had been deeply affected by whatever had happened to her.  
“Please Brienne, tell me who did this to you.”

“It was Ramsay’s dogs.” Her voice was so soft, even this close he could barely hear her. 

Jaime began to rise and search for his weapon, but she tugged him back down. “It is alright husband. Ramsay and his monstrous beasts are dead.” Her grip was very strong, despite her injuries, and Jaime winced under the pressure.

There was a noise as Sansa and Jon entered their chambers. Reverently, Sansa placed the bloodied ornate dagger on the side table.

Jaime kept his eyes on Brienne, but his angry words were aimed at the Lord Commander, “I thought your men were hunting Ramsay down. How did he get past them?” It was a low threatening growl and Jon visibly paled upon hearing the quiet roar of the mighty lion.

Brienne assured her angry husband, “I am fine. Help me out of these, please.” She needed his assistance in removing her outer leathers.

He aided in pulling off her leather top, leaving just the padded shift on underneath. He grimaced when he saw the oozing puncture wounds on her wrist. Quickly, he grabbed a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her trembling form. 

Podrick limped into their chamber and stayed in the doorway so as not to intrude. The Maester arrived next with a serving boy carrying warm water and medical supplies. He glared at the number of people in the room, but no matter how much he grumbled about it, no one moved to leave.

Kneeling by her side, the healer gently poked and studied Brienne’s wrist and ankle. “These look to be animal bites.”

Wincing from his touch, Brienne quietly explained, “Yes, from dogs.”

Nodding in a clinical manner, the Maester began to clean her wounded wrist. Between her hisses of pain, he observed, “We must keep these clean to stave off any infection from occurring.”

Jaime practically pleaded to her, “Gods Brienne, please tell me what happened.” 

After the Maester finished with her wrist, Brienne slowly flexed her fingers. Other than the pain from the injury, she had thankfully not lost any mobility. “The sick bastard thought it would be amusing if we were the prey.”

Jaime recalled how Lord Ramsay wanted some fun by having his dogs chase Brienne for sport. “He is lucky to be dead,” Jaime threatened.

Brienne smiled ruefully, “He is dead twice over, husband.”

Jaime grinned proudly and kissed her cheek, “That’s my wench.”

Exhaling, she dipped her head towards the young woman in the room, “Actually, Lady Sansa killed him.”

Shocked, Jaime appraised the new Warden of the North more closely and then nodded when he recognized her pale, grim features. He was surprised she had it in her, but then the Starks never were pushovers.

“Argh!” Pain radiated from Brienne’s ankle as her thrashed boot was carefully removed by the Maester. 

As he examined it clinically, he asked, “Any other wounds, my lady?”

She shook her head. “No, I am just sore all over.” 

The Maester nodded in understanding and took more bandages from his bag. “No wonder, with the size of those teeth marks. The dogs must have been very large.” After cleaning the injury, he wrapped her ankle in a bandage.

“How is the baby?” Jaime asked without care of who overheard.

As Brienne nodded that all was alright, Jon barked out shocked, “Baby?” 

“You are pregnant?” Sansa almost sounded introspective at the news. She stared at Jaime, but he refused to squirm under her steadfast stare.

“That is wonderful… and fast.” Jon frowned as he did the math.

The Maester prodded Brienne’s stomach gently with his hands and then put his ear to it. “There are no sounds of distress, and no undue swelling or bruising. I think you were lucky, my lady, but only time will tell. The moment you feel any discomfort or pain, or should you experience bleeding, you are to let me know at once.” His grey eyes fixed on Jaime who quickly nodded.

Relieved, Jaime brushed the hair from Brienne’s forehead and tenderly kissed her temple. “You are one tough woman, wife.” She smiled crookedly up at him.

An out of breath Tyrion raced into the room. He sounded a tad exasperated as he addressed Sansa, “I am surprised that I had to hear about this attack through some passing Wilding.” He then studied Brienne, and with a slightly mocking tone, said, “I am pleased to see that the usual Wilding hyperbole was as ridiculous as ever. My lady, they claimed you killed a whole pack of wild beasts and, once bitten, that you had become one yourself! You do not look hairy to me.”

Sansa did not acknowledge his griping and instead patted Brienne’s knee. “She was very brave. She drew the dogs and Ramsay away from me.” 

Jon graciously stated, “Lady Brienne, thank you for saving my sister’s life.”

With slightly glassy eyes, Brienne nodded to Sansa and told Jon, “It was Sansa and Lord Wull who saved mine.”

Concerned at the slowness of his wife’s responses, Jaime tucked the blanket around her shoulders tighter. “Lord Wull saved you?” Though grateful for the Clansman’s help, Jaime could not help but glare at Jon, “You really need to work on your security measures, Snow.” 

Brienne continued as if she had not heard Jaime, “Yes, Wull said he dreamt that some brown-haired boy told him I was in danger and to come to my aid against the dogs.”

A scowling Jaime wondered if she had hit her head, as well, but Jon and Sansa gasped. An emphatic Sansa declared to her brother, “It was Bran! I know it was. I knew I felt his influence from the moment I touched that weirwood tree.” She then thought sadly that it could not be true since her brother was dead.

Jon only shrugged. Even though he was Ned’s son, he found it hard to believe that the weirwoods had true power. It was just a myth. 

“It is an amazing time we live in.” Brienne’s soft tone was disconcerting, and Jaime shared a concerned look with the Maester.

Acknowledging this, the Maester said, “She might be in shock.” 

As he gathered his medical supplies, he grumbled to the group, “Lady Brienne needs her rest.” He stood and told them, “Warm compresses on the bruises should help reduce the pain. I will inform the servants to bring some up.” 

Taking the hint, the others began to leave the room to give the Lannisters some privacy. The Maester turned to Sansa and gave her an appraising stare. “We should take a look at you too, my Lady.”

Sansa nodded. “Of course. But we must make it quick.” Sansa glanced over at Tyrion. “I have already told Jon, but it seems that the evil influence from beyond the Wall is making an appearance.”

Tyrion sputtered, “The White Walkers are this far south?”

“After Ramsay was killed, he was quickly reanimated and attempted to kill us.” 

It was Jaime’s turn to pale at the mention of the walking dead. Jaime glanced over at Brienne in renewed concern. 

“This is bad, really bad,” Tyrion grumbled.

“Husband,” Sansa rebuked soundly, “we will talk more of this later. Lady Brienne needs her rest.”

Sansa moved toward the door, and Podrick was by her side before Tyrion could even grasp her hand to help her along. 

Stopping just outside of the door, Sansa turned to the two wounded warriors and, with a knowing smile on her features, said, “Remember, Winterfell has natural hot springs that might aid in relieving your aches and pains.” Without another look, Sansa left with Podrick assisting her.

Tyrion gave his brother a resigned look and then trailed behind the others.

Nudging Brienne’s shoulder, Jaime added suggestively to his wife, “And the pools are good at relieving many other things too, wench.” 

“Husband, I am hardly fit for anything.” She tried to joke, but it sounded forced.

Sensing that her harried emotions were near the surface, he leaned closer to her. “Now that you are no longer bleeding, let us get you into bed.”

Helping her to her feet, he drew her into a hug and held her tight in relief that she was alive. As she trembled in his grasp, he breathed out, “Thank the Gods you are alright, Brienne.” She clutched him back and seemed to sag slightly against him.

No matter how stoic she was, he could tell that what had happened to her affected her more than she was letting on.

Together, they hobbled to the bed. Pulling back the covers for her, he helped her sit on the edge of the bed. Tenderly, he pulled off her other boot and helped her remove her leather trousers. Once free of them, he assisted her in crawling under the covers. After tucking her in, he sat beside her. 

Jaime knew there was a time in her life when Brienne would have kept it to herself, afraid that any show of weakness would affect how others perceived and treated her.  
Though he knew she understood that it was different with him, he was worried that due to the harshness of the attack, she might revert to her old ways. “It will be alright, Brienne. Maybe if you told me more, you would feel better.”

She stiffly nodded and smiled weakly at him. As she told the story, her voice often cracked with strain and fear. This made him want to hold her even more and never let her go. “His dogs chased me, hunted me down. Finally, they caught me, pinned me to the ground, tried to kill me.” She spoke fast and without a breath as if she were trying to dispel the horror that had happened to her. “I—I was so scared, and I thought the baby was going to die and that I would never see you again and that I couldn’t tell you how much I loved you and that you would never forgive me for any of this.” Tears from fear and futility tracked down her pale cheeks.

Meekly, she added, “If Lord Wull hadn’t shown up when he did—”

Jaime did not want to think about what would have happened then. “I owe that man a life debt.” 

She glanced up in guilt. “Ramsay killed him.”

Jaime nodded, not at all surprised. “Then I owe his memory. Perhaps we will name our next child after him?” He smirked at Brienne’s scowl. 

“Maybe something else instead,” she murmured, a slight grin tugging at her mouth.

He was relieved that she seemed to be snapping out of her shock somewhat. He could never express well enough what an amazing woman he thought her to be. Then a horrible thought occurred to him. “Were these the same beasts that had greeted us our first time here?”

She nodded and rubbed her runny nose on her sleeve. 

Jaime nearly cursed in rage as he recalled the size of those monstrous dogs. Knowing it would not do her any good if he should suddenly kick the furniture, he stated, “I am so proud of you. You fought bravely and stayed alive.”

Grimacing out a smile to him, she sniffed back her sorrow. “I do not know anymore—about this or anything.”

She exhaled and glanced down at her stomach that was starting to show.

Nodding, he patted her non-injured hand with his stump and said, “I know that near-death experiences always make me question my life choices.”

Brienne’s voice was very low, almost cautious. “I wonder if we are doing the right thing. This child—”

Jaime assured her, “—will be okay. We are all going to be okay. Soon we will be away from the accursed North, safe at home. And I promise that we will raise our child in absolute boredom. I guarantee that.”

She mockingly rolled her eyes, “Not too boring please.”

“Wench, haven’t you had enough adventure?” Though he made his rebuke sound light, Jaime wondered if she had finally reached her limit, at least for now.

Exhaling, she stated sincerely, “Actually, I think I have.”

Patting her leg with his hand, his stump touched her cheek, “Thank you for sharing what happened. I am so grateful that you are still alive. I do not know what I would do if anything were to happen to you.”

She stared into his eyes, “Same. You scared me so much after what Stannis had done to you. I thought you were going to die.”

Giving her a lingering kiss, Jaime then rested his forehead against hers. “Never. Besides, I knew you would hunt the Stranger himself to bring me back, and I did not want to risk such an altercation. Why all those poor fledgling maesters’ fingers would be whittled down to nubs from having to change all the scrolls to six gods instead of seven.”

Ignoring his quip, she declared, “I would do more than just best the Stranger for you, Jaime.” She was using her solemn pledge voice again, and internally Jaime winced. He wished his wench would keep that in check. 

Her gaze was so earnest; he had to sigh. “I wish I had killed that bastard Ramsay myself.”

Pushing herself backward on the bed so she could lie down, she winced as her sore muscles protested. “At least he is no longer around to hurt us.” Suddenly so very tired, she shut her eyes.

The look Jaime aimed at her was full of doubt. “Are you sure you are going to be alright?”

As she nodded her affirmation, there was a light knock on the door. With a tired sigh, Jaime answered it. Two servants came in; one carried warm compresses, the other a tray overflowing with wine and food. 

“My lord and lady. Where shall we put these?”

Jaime pointed to the side table by the beds, “The table will do for the food. I will take the compresses.”

Once they have done what was requested, they exited the room. Jaime helped Brienne to sit up and then placed a warm compress on her back and another on her wounded ankle and wrist. She sighed in relief; then her gaze rested on the tray of food.

With a bemused expression, Brienne stated, “Well this is a quandary.”

Jaime frowned, confused by her words. “Hum?”

“We’re both injured. Who feeds whom?” Her quirked grin made Jaime a bit anxious. The last time she’d fed him, he had cake crusted up his nose for a week. Still, he did not wish to discourage her flirty behavior.

With a slight shrug, he suggested, “We could feed one another.”

She curtly bobbed her head, “Ah, I like how you think, husband.”

Though they tried to be helpful to one another, soon a mess was made. It started out civil enough, with the food reaching their open mouths, but when Jaime honestly missed her lips and smeared a bit of cheese into her ear, the gloves came off. Brienne retaliated with a raisin up one nose, and it was not long before they were both doubled-over with wheezing laughter.

Later, as they lay satiated from food, they lowered themselves to lie flat on the bed. Jaime let out a loud, plaintive sigh, “Well I can’t move.”

Brienne stripped a long-cooled compress from her back and another from her wrist and tossed them towards the door. She settled back against the pillows, trying to adjust herself without bumping Jaime too much. 

“I think we are going to need a bigger bed,” he said, watching her with amusement.

“Are the ones in Casterly Rock large enough for us?” 

Jaime leered at her, “Oh not to worry my Lady wench, there will be plenty of space for us to work upon.”

With a light laugh, she leaned in to kiss him but stopped when she moaned in pain. Grimacing, she dropped onto her back and stared belligerently up at the ceiling. “This is ridiculous!” She spat through gritted teeth.

Jaime thought it was funny that they were spending their honeymoon banged up and bloodied. “Oh course, it can never be easy for us!” He teased, “Well, you had wanted a honeymoon up North.”

As she chuckled, she settled more comfortably in bed. She turned and glanced at him. Her smile seemed genuine, and Jaime exhaled.

He was thankful she felt better. But just the thought of her being traumatized by those great beasts made him grind his molars. His wife said she was okay, but he knew that it would take time. Jaime could not imagine what he would do if anything happened to her or his child. With a sigh, he wondered if he might lock her up in some tower for their protection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your support!
> 
> And I do promise that I like dogs (just not the killer types) ;-)


	23. Visitor

Though the White Walkers’ presence so far south deeply concerned her, Sansa wanted to deal with Theon first. Her mind was too occupied with his betrayal against her family to be able to concentrate on anything other than that right now.

So, while Brienne and Jaime slept, Sansa stared down from the dais at the man who had once been a part of her family. Tyrion sat next to her, cushions propping him up so he was level with her. Sansa had acquiesced to her brother’s wishes and now six of his most trusted Wildings stood close by guarding her.

As she silently contemplated the situation, she hid her hands in a furred wrap. It had seemed to take forever to get all the blood off and it still felt as if they were covered in gore, despite being perfectly clean. Though the maester had pronounced that she should rest, Sansa knew there was still too much to do. Upon hearing Ramsay’s attack against her, the clan leaders of the North promised to be patient. Sansa supposed it would not be long before they once again demanded their promised rewards.

Theon cowered before her; Jon was guarding him was so close, that he could be mistaken for the broken man’s shadow.

Sansa frowned at the thought of what Theon must have endured under Ramsay’s hand to become such a shell of a man. But even though he had saved her life, he had committed grievous wrongs and must be punished. Still, she felt a pang of sympathy for him. Sansa was glad that Jon and Tyrion were there to offer their advice.

She heard Tyrion shift uneasily in his seat. She recalled that her husband had met Theon when he had visited here all those years past. Even then, the disdain Tyrion held for the ‘hostage’ from the Iron Isles had been palpable, and she wondered if he now found pity in his heart for such a retch.

“Kneel before your Warden,” Tyrion demanded imperiously. Sansa figured he had not, and she was pleased that he was taking his role so seriously.

Seeing Theon flinch before he fell to his knees, she realized that whatever fierceness had emerged to kill Ramsay had dissipated just as quickly. 

Before confronting Theon, the three had agreed that since he had saved Sansa, they would not risk that trust. Instead, Sansa would play the grateful victim, while Jon and Tyrion would be the scornful protectors. Tyrion had been very insightful in those regards on how best to manipulate the situation to get what they wanted. 

With a surreptitious nod from his sister, Jon was instantly in Theon’s recoiling face, “You allowed your Iron Isles brethren to enter Winterfell and destroy our home! They killed many loyal to the Starks, and it is all your fault!”

When Sansa had told Jon that it was implicit that Theon pay for Bran’s and Rickon’s lives, Jon sheepishly informed her that they had not been killed, but had escaped. Alas, after Sam had admitted such to Jon, he had declared that they were somewhere beyond the Wall. Sansa’s heart stuttered at the thought of her younger brothers out there in the wild among those dead things.

The wreck of a man raised his hands over his head so it was difficult for Jon to hear what he said. “What was that?” He barked.

Theon slowly lowered his hands, his eyes still downcast, “I am sorry. I was wrong.”

A sneering Tyrion accused, “It was because of you that Lady Sansa’s younger brothers are lost somewhere beyond the Wall.” 

Theon glanced up at them in surprise, hope evident on his features. “You—you know I did not kill them?”

Sansa nodded, and Theon exhaled in relief. When he rushed forward to embrace the hem of her dress, the Wildings grabbed him and shoved him onto the floor. Theon cried piteously and stared up at Sansa.

Before he could say anything else, Tyrion reproached him loudly, “You might not have killed her brother’s here, but by forcing them to leave the protection of Winterfell, they could very well be dead.”

Internally, Sansa shook her head. After she had heard that it had been a dark-haired boy who guided Lord Wull to Brienne’s aid, she knew that Bran had to have somehow lived. Either that or she was going mad. And she knew her young brother would keep Rickon alive as well; he would never abandon him.

Sansa’s mind was a whirl. Upon hearing that her brothers lived, there had first been a feeling of hope, then defeat that they were somewhere out there in danger. But then there was a slight hope once more, for, according to Lady Brienne, even Arya could still be alive—

Jon stood tall, “I will shortly be heading up north to fulfill my part of the bargain with the Wildings.” He earnestly promised his half-sister, “I will find our brothers.” Still distracted, Sansa nodded her thanks. With a disparaging glance beside him, Jon tilted his head and indicated the meek man, “And Theon will come with me. It is only fair that he seek redemption for his actions by righting this.”

Theon did not argue with him, resigned to the fact. But quietly they heard him mumble, “You won’t find them. They don’t wish to be found. The Boltons tried, they even got Lord Umber to hunt for them, and he was unsuccessful.”

Ignoring him, Tyrion lightly patted Sansa’s hand for comfort. “Maybe once they know you are here ruling, they will come home where it is safe.”

Sansa smiled in gratitude at her husband for his kind, sage words. “Yes, send the word out, but I want everyone to keep alert for any sign of them.”

With the order from the Warden declared, the room broke into a flurry of action as Jon and the Wildlings departed quickly with Theon. 

Suddenly, the large doors opened and Celyne stood silhouetted in the doorway. Sansa stiffened. The interview with Theon was not the only unfinished business she must deal with this day. She did not look forward to this confrontation, but at least Celyne’s father had died with honor. 

And that was how he would always be remembered.

Celyne stormed into the reception chamber, her voice low with emotion, “Where are you keeping my father? Your Wilding pets told me he was spotted in the surrounding forest, but all I found was blood.”

In her periphery, Sansa saw Tyrion sit up straight as the Clanswoman stalked towards the dais, her thick leather boots loud upon the cold stone floor. “I know you threatened to kill him if he ever came back here, so where is he?” She demanded.

The young Warden waved off the Wilding guards that moved to block the Wull leader’s path. Staring down at the fuming woman, Sansa exhaled and dipped her head in apology, “Lady Celyne, I am sorry to inform you that your father is dead.” Lord Wull’s body had already been taken back to the Keep for burial, while Ramsay’s and her dead personal guards had been burned right away.

Sansa registered the emotions that warred across the young woman’s face. Finally, anger overrode her grief, but before Celyne could spew out any accusations, Sansa assured her “It was not by my hand. Lady Brienne and I were attacked by a common enemy. Your father saved her life at the risk of his own.”

Celyne barked out a bitter laugh, “The same woman who insisted that he die for his earlier actions?” 

The Warden was not about to apologize to Celyne; her father had blatantly gone against Sansa’s wishes. But it seemed that now some allowances needed to be made. “Know that he died honorably. He fought bravely, protecting her from Ramsay Bolton himself.” Sansa embellished a little in hopes of diffusing the fury that radiated off the upset leader.

Celyne visibly calmed, but her tone was still tinged in outrage, “So he will no longer be viewed as a traitor for trying to help you secure your birthright.” It was not a question, and Sansa was reminded that integrity meant more to the Northern clans than anything else.

Sansa nodded her head in acquiescence, and Celyne added, “Then that means you will bury him with full honors.”

Sansa hated to overlook the dead man’s duplicitous actions, but he had saved someone she owed a life debt to. Besides, there were other things that needed her attention, and quibbling over this was not worth the time. If any of the other Northern Clans balked, she would sweeten the rewards offered to them. She briskly nodded, “Yes, I will rescind my accusations. He will be buried in the weirwood groove as any other honored Northern leader would be.”

The surprise was evident on the Celyne’s face, but she quickly schooled her features. After a sharp bow, she stood straight, and her smile was genuine, “My father was wise to support you. You are a fair and just Warden.”

Exhaling in relief, Sansa sat back. “I trust you will remember that when I hand out the rewards to all my vassals.”

Gauging the calculating look in Sansa’s eyes, Celyne momentarily frowned. She then formally bowed once more, “Whatever my Warden graciously grants us, I will accept. And I will ensure that the other smaller clans do, as well.”

Sansa tapped her chin in thought. It was time to bring all the Northern Clans together under one leader. “Speaking of the other clans, meet me prior to our gathering this afternoon. I have something to discuss with you before I iron out all things promised to them.” Sansa’s tone was of dismissal. 

“Until then my lady.” Celyne then turned on her heel and strode from the chambers.

Visibly relaxing, Tyrion and Sansa exchanged a look. 

“You handled that well, my lady,” Tyrion spoke low and was pleased when his wife smiled at him in return. “Now if you excuse me, I have an errand I need to take care of before we meet with those who wish to be aptly rewarded for their troubles.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She sounded sincere, and Tyrion left her side, lighter than he had felt in a long time. Maybe his wife was finally accepting him now. At the door, he glanced back and noticed that Sansa’s features were now scowling in contemplation, her eyes still focused on his retreating form. All hopeful feelings evaporated, and he warily thought that maybe things were not so good between them after all.

Making his way to the largest tower in Winterfell, Tyrion ambled to the maester’s study. Once there, he requested a raven to be dispatched to Kings Landing. His hand shook a bit as he gleefully wrote a message to his father informing him that a Stark once more ruled Winterfell. 

But his jovial mood was short lived. Upon reflection, he realized that the Hand would now demand a child from them to seal the pact. Tyrion sighed ruefully; by the time he finally won Sansa over, she’d be too old to bear them any children.

Finished, he left and headed to his private chambers. He still had enough time to have a contemplative drink or two before they were to meet with the other clans. It would be a combative meeting. Sansa was going to propose that all the Clans unify into one entity with Lady Celyne as their leader.

The quiet walk enabled him to reflect on his missive, and he hoped his note to his father had not been too curt. But then, he knew Tywin would be so outraged by the whole situation that there was no need to go into too much detail anyway. Tyrion simply informed him that his wife Sansa was now the Warden of the North and that the Hand no longer had to worry about loyalties with his son by her side, a close advisor. Smirking, Tyrion wished he could be there when this missive was received. 

Still, Tyrion was hopeful that Jaime was right that their father would not intervene and send troops up here. He doubted his father would, but then one never knew how the vengeful Lord Tywin would react. Regardless, Tyrion had a feeling that his brother would be getting the brunt of their father’s anger once he reached the safety of Casterly Rock.

Entering his chambers, Tyrion poured a cup of wine and smiled as he mulled Sansa’s apparent gratitude. The look that his wife had bestowed on him had warmed him deeply. It gave him some hope that maybe things would thaw between them sooner than he hoped. 

No, he shook his head and took a long draught of wine. Who was he kidding? She would always see him as a dastardly Lannister.

At least he’d won over Jon while at the Wall. Sansa was going to take a while, especially after being with Podrick for so long. 

He drank more from his cup and stared forlornly out into the bleakness of the falling snow outside his window. Trying to put a positive spin on his situation, he reasoned that at least the weather wasn’t as bad down here as it had been at the Wall.

Shuddering at the memory of the bone-biting cold, he turned back to the hearth, a fire blazing merrily behind the grate. 

If his role of being an advisor to the Warden of the North was short lived, he could always move down to the much warmer climate at Casterly Rock. That thought caused a slight smile, and he sat down to figure out what his next move should be.

*

Two nights later, Brienne awoke from her nightmare with a start, her hand thrusting out to protect her face from the snapping jaws of the huge beast. She gasped; the sudden jarring movement reminded her of just how sore she was, and she fell back onto the soft mattress with a groan. Her non-injured hand brushed Jaime’s side of the bed, but she found him gone, the sheets cold to the touch.

Before her muddled brain could process this, the door abruptly opened. Instantly, she groped for Oathkeeper, but it was not beside the bed. Someone had moved it just out of reach. No doubt those who feared she would attack them if startled from her slumber.

“I am not the enemy, wife. It is me.” She recognized Jaime’s voice and relaxed. 

Confidently striding towards her, he asked, “How do you feel?”

“Sore.” Blurrily, she gazed about the darkened room. Looking out through the frosted window, she frowned. “What time is it?”

“Depends on one's frame of mind. It could be late at night, or early in the morning.” He placed a tray of food on the small side table next to her.

“You let me sleep in?” She tried to get out of bed, but all she could muster was a moan of pain.

“Has anyone ever been able to roust you from a sound sleep, love?” As she struggled to rise once more, Jaime helped her sit up. Tucking a pillow behind her back, he then set the food tray on her lap. “Besides, you really needed it.”

She winced as she carefully flexed her bandaged wrist. “I should get up. Lady Sansa will need my counsel.”

“If you are concerned that the clans and Wildings might rebel from not getting what they were promised, you need not worry. She took care of that yesterday, and all seemed to think what she had doled out as rewards were fair enough. Then of course it took some doing between her and Tyrion to convince all of the clans to unite under Lady Celyne, but they were most persuasive.” He rubbed his fingers in the universal language that indicated coin. “And now she is sleeping in her quarters. It seems wife that your vows have all been fulfilled to the Starks.”

Incredulously, she inquired, “How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.” 

“Damn it,” she growled out but did not have the energy to do more than glower at the unfairness of it all.

Acknowledging her frustration, Jaime reminded her, “It’s not as if you did not deserve the rest.” He indicated the food with a dip of his head, “You should try to eat something.”

With a grimace, she picked at the bland meal of toast and eggs. “Why are you up this early?” 

As she sipped hot tea, he sat beside her on the bed and said, “I was just refreshing my memory as to where certain locations are throughout the Keep.” His far to chipper response had her instantly suspicious. 

He eyed her as she nibbled on some toast. “Actually, I am glad you’re awake. I feared I might have to toss you into the thermals to get you up.”

When she frowned at him, he leaned over and rumbled in her ear, “You know a good soak is just what you need to alleviate your aches and other types of… aches.” She trembled when his sultry whisper made the tips of her toes tingle. 

To hide what his words did to her, Brienne snorted at his leering visage. He watched her finish her toast, and when she began to eat the eggs, he grinned. She never could hide what his purring voice did to her. The whole time, she kept glancing over at him, and each time, his grin grew wider.

After she had eaten as much as she could stomach, she put the tray on the small table beside the bed. Giving in, she growled, “Alright, alright.” She tried to sound irritated, but she could not manage it, Jaime’s mood was infectious. He was as gleeful as a little boy getting presents on his Name Day. When she tossed the covers off, Jaime sprang to his feet. 

She side-eyed him, “Even with me like this; you still want to try?”

Jaime shrugged good-naturedly, “Regardless of how amorous you feel, I think using the therapeutic warm waters is just what the maester would order to alleviate your soreness. Besides, you could use a bath.”

Crinkling her nose, she nodded in agreement. She then gazed in disdain at the clean clothing that Jaime handed to her. “I don’t know if I can get my pants over the ankle bandage. Too bad I cannot wear this blanket. It certainly would save me the effort of dressing and disrobing,” She joked as she maneuvered to rest her feet on the cold floor.

“Why, wife, what a wonderful idea,” a smirking Jaime said and scooped her up, blankets and all.

She shrieked and then held on for dear life as Jaime tottered for a moment. Finally, he righted himself and began to head towards the door.

Chuckling, he said, “I have wanted us to replay our time in the Harrenhal baths, and if I remember correctly, you had on far less than you do now.” 

“You must be mad!” She protested, but Jaime just shook his head, tightening his hold on her carefully so as not to cause her more pain. She stuttered out, “But what if someone sees me like this?”

The cockiness was strong in his voice, “Fear not, wife, no one is around. All the servants are busy cleaning the main hall for the official coronation to make Lady Sansa the Warden of the North in a few days.”

She stopped fighting him. “What are you talking about?”

Jaime acted smug because for once he knew something she did not know. “Why wife, while you slumbered, the Northern Lords sent a message that they demanded to talk to Lady Sansa about what her actual role will be. They will start arriving in a day or so to remind her of her place.” 

Brienne was outraged at their effrontery and once more struggled in Jaime’s grasp, “Unhand me. I best go speak with her.”

Clenching her tighter, he hissed, “Never fear, wench. She plans to remain the new Warden, with or without their approval. Snow has said that if they cause any problems, he and Longclaw will remind them that a Stark will always be the Warden of the North. And once they are warned of their place, the official coronation will occur to seal Lady Sansa’s position.”

Brienne nodded in approval. “Yes, and I am sure that Jon’s large army will also help to remind the aristocracy to stay in line.” She smiled at the prospect of those officious noble bastards getting a wakeup call. She would never forgive those lords for how they treated Sansa when she had asked them for their aid weeks ago. 

It took some effort on his part, but Jaime finally managed to open the door to their chambers. 

As he carried her into the hallway, Brienne looked about in concern. “Regardless of the busy servants, someone still might see us.”

Jaime smiled, “Trust me, wench. I know of a secret way to our destination.” Though there was a twinkle in his eye, there was a slight darkness to it, too.

She frowned, and then recalled that the Lannisters had visited here some years ago. She wondered how often he and his sister, Cersei had snuck away to meet in clandestine places. She would have rolled her eyes at the thought, but even that hurt too much.

Her further objections petered out when Jaime rushed them past the maester who was coming up to check on her. “And where are you two going?”

“My wife needs a bath,” Jaime said testily over his shoulder. 

The indignant maester sputtered, “Well, just don’t overdo it.” Brienne heard him grumble under his breath, “I will come by later to change her bandages.”

But already Jaime had them around the corner and heading down a set of stairs before Brienne could reply. 

While traversing down the steps, she noticed that this route had hardly been used. Cobwebs were tucked between the ceiling beams, and Jaime’s footsteps kicked up enough dust that she feared she might sneeze. Thankfully, they had not passed anyone else or she would have died from mortification.

By the time they reached the ground level, Brienne could tell that Jaime was tiring; he was pale, panting and sweating. “Maybe you’d better put me down, or you will not have the energy to replay anything, husband. You are still not fully healed yourself.”

He growled at her comment. “Wench, I have enough energy to remind you of the past and then some.” Her insulting query seemed to have fortified him, and he made it all the way to the entrance of the underground thermal baths without further issue. 

Once they entered the tiled room, Jaime lowered her to the ground and turned away from her. As he rested his hands on his knees and surreptitiously took deep gulps of air (which he disguised this action as if coughing from all the stirred-up dust), Brienne took in the surroundings. 

The usual feeling of mugginess in the air was reminiscent of the last thermals they had been in, but unlike the baths at the Dreadfort, these pools were of a pleasant, less-scalding temperature. The chamber itself was smaller, with fewer pools, and a light mist that gathered against the high ceiling. 

Thankfully, due to the earliness of the hour, they had the thermals all to themselves.

After catching his breath, Jaime indicated for Brienne to go into the warm water first. Eyeing the steamy thermal pool warily, she slowly dropped the blankets onto the floor. 

By Jaime’s sly grin, he obviously still found her nakedness appealing despite her loud hisses and grunts of pain as she hobbled down the slick steps into the hot springs. She sucked in a loud breath as the water touched the first of her bandages. 

As Jaime studied his wife, he reflected that though things had changed since their first bath at Harrenhal, there were still similarities in this moment. His stump ached horribly, and his wench was rather a mess. But now there were new scars on her that had not been there before. The bear claws and the arrow wound were both evident on her left shoulder, and he knew that the wet bandages covered the fresh scars of puncture wounds on her wrists and ankle. There was also a multitude of bruises, some more colorful than others.

But it was the slight swell to her belly that he now focused on. Their child was in there and he could not feel anymore amazed and thrilled at what their future held together.

Cautiously, she lowered herself into the heated pool. Her obvious pain was relieved somewhat as she settled into the bubbling water. With heavy-lidded eyes, she glanced up at Jaime, who suddenly snapped out of his pensive mood. “Oh, right.” 

Since his wife’s striptease had been less than stellar, Jaime made sure his was much sexier. His body had changed too since Harrenhal, having filled out once more into strong musculature from a healthier diet and exercise. Jaime’s suggestive moves seemed to work because Brienne sat up a little in the water, her eyes bright in the murky light. 

Jaime carefully stepped into the hot water and nearly yelped. It was a bit hotter than he was used to. Ignoring his wife’s grunt of a laugh, he then slowly sank into it. Now it was his turn to look at her expectantly, but she just continued to soak in the therapeutic water, her eyes shut in bliss.

Smiling coyly, he reminded her, “Now I say something passive-aggressive to you, and you act pissed off and stand alluringly.”

She cracked one eye open and said indignantly, “You impugned my honor.” 

He nodded quickly, “True, true.”

With an aggravated exhale, she sat up. 

Jaime frowned as she slowly stood with a groan. She hunched at an angle, clearly favoring her right side. This was not the proud, defiant warrior from that time, but a woman that had been recently beaten and was now at the limits of exhaustion. Jaime sighed, “While I give you credit for trying, wench, I bid you to sit down before you injure yourself further.”

She glowered at him but lowered her sore body back into the water nonetheless. So much for his fantasies…

“Alright,” Brienne growled after a moment. “Your turn.”

Quickly gauging his wife’s irritation, Jaime decided that this was not the best time for fancies. “You know, wench. I think I want to try a new game. Could my lovely wife come over to me, please?” He added sweetly, “That is if you are able.” 

Brienne’s expression of discomfort had slowly dissolved to one of bliss again as the hot water began to work its magic on her sore limbs. She eased herself off the submerged bench and slowly pushed through the water over to him. As she moved towards him, he motioned for her to turn around.

“Come sit down here and relax.” He leaned back against the tiled wall of the pool. With his arms outstretched, she sat down with him behind her. It was at first an odd feeling having him behind her like this, but then he circled his arms around her waist and hugged her against his chest. He rested his head against her shoulder, and she relaxed into his embrace. Softly, he asked, “This feels good?”

Humming, she whispered, “Yes.”

He lightly kissed her neck, and then rubbed the coarse stubble on his chin against her shoulder. “It’s nice to be able to hold you like this.” 

She only grunted an affirmation, not wanting to move too much.

“Both of you.” His hand lightly brushed her belly, and she placed her own over his, covering it as he rubbed her stomach.

They stayed like that for some time and then they retired to their quarters for the rest of the day.

*

It was early the next morning when a quick, loud rap on the door roused Jaime. Brienne just groaned and rolled over with the covers trailing her, her face buried in the pillow. Smiling, Jaime placed a gentle kiss on her bare shoulder.

The knock on the door came harder the second time around, and Jaime hastened to his feet before the noise could provoke his groggy wife into violent action. 

Grabbing the sheet from under her grumbling form, he wrapped it around his naked torso and stalked towards the door. Yanking it open, he frowned down at the petulant Wilding boy who stood looking bored before him. Jaime commanded, “Yes? What is it?” 

The boy looked him up and down. Clearly unimpressed, he drawled, “Are you Jaime Lannister?”

“That is Lord Lannister to you.” Though frustrated at the rude behavior, Jaime knew he should not provoke a Wilding, or they would willfully stall longer just to spite you.  
Smirking, the grubby-looking lad cockily stated, “Yeah, well, your brother wants to see you and your wife right away.”

“What is this about?” Jaime demanded, but already the scruffy child had darted off. Wildings made horrible pages. Grinding his teeth, Jaime thought they could not leave this accused Northern land soon enough. The pages at Casterly Rock would never be so bold.

Shutting the door, he turned and glanced at the sleeping form of his wife. She looked so comfortable; he truly did not want to bother her. But this must have been important if his brother was requesting both of their presence. 

Striding to the bed, he shook his wife awake. She blindly batted at his hand; the muffled curses coming from the pillow were most unfitting of a lady. After a harder shake, she peeked her head up and gave him the stink eye. Then her face fell back into the pillow. 

Jaime would not be deterred, though he did take a step back so not to be in arm’s reach. “We are being summoned,” he told her. “Now get up.”

“We are done with this pledge. I am beholden to no one now.” She declared, as dignified as possible, into her pillow, her hand waving regally about.

Jaime snorted as he tossed her clothes on the bed and began to dress, “Oh, with that attitude you will fit in perfectly at Casterly Rock.”

Even with his back to her, he could feel her scowl. He knew his wench hated being compared to the aristocracy. Finally, she sat up with a groan. After a big yawn, she grumbled something unpleasant under her breath, no doubt calling Jaime out on his manipulation. Crankily, Brienne slid out of bed and limped to the privy. 

“How’s the ankle?” Jaime asked as he pulled on his pants.

“Better,” she called over her shoulder.

It seemed that at least she could put most of her weight on it. Last night, the maester had visited and had changed the bandages to much smaller ones. After he had proclaimed that they were healing nicely with no infection, they had kicked him out and enjoyed a quiet night together in their luxurious warm bed.

Once she finished her abolitions, she got dressed. When done, each made sure that the other one’s appearance was reasonable. With swords belted around their waists, they hastily left their chambers.

They passed the servants who were working on cleaning and airing out neighboring chambers for the soon to be arriving noble guests. Though they were focused on the tasks at hand, the servants seemed to be happy that Winterfell was once more a safe place to live. They hummed or sang joyfully as they shook out bedding and dusted the wall hangings.

It did not take long before Jaime and Brienne entered the main reception room. At least Jaime assumed that was where he was to meet Tyrion since that rude Wilding boy had not given him a destination.

Jaime was wrong to presume. They should have gone to his brother’s study instead. At least then Tyrion could have warned them of the uninvited guest and they could have been prepared…

For standing next to Sansa, all confident and arrogant, was the person they had least expected to see here. Jaime grabbed his wife’s arm before she could charge at the smug Lord of the Vale, Littlefinger.

Sneering, Jaime said, “Why, if it isn’t our good friend, Lord Baelish.” 

Jaime did afford the man some pleasantries; he had gone down to Dorne to help save his daughter, after all. It would have been easier to be friendlier had the man not sent bounty hunters to track down Lady Sansa, though.

His wife held no such compunction. Brienne shook free of Jaime’s hold and took a threatening step forward, her hand instantly going to her sword's pommel.

Littlefinger tensed, but Sansa stated calmly, “Lady Brienne, Lord Baelish is a guest here. Please afford him the same courtesy that you would wish upon yourself.”

Brienne nodded, “Of course, my Lady. I apologize for assuming he was even a threat to anyone in the first place.”

Baelish addressed Brienne through gritted teeth, “You know my threat well enough, Lady Brienne.”

Before she could retort, Tyrion appeared in the entrance of the hall. He gave his brother a look and then trotted up to the dais to sit next to his wife. “I am sorry I missed the grand unveiling,” he groused out to those around him.

Littlefinger said coolly, “There was nothing missed, my Lord. Lady Sansa and I were just catching up.”

Jaime sardonically addressed his tense wife, “Yes, she is perfectly safe. It appears that we are not needed here after all. Come wife; let us go have our breakfast.”

He turned to leave, but Brienne was too outraged to accompany him. Her suspicious gaze never left Baelish’s supercilious one.

Jumping up from his seat, Tyrion ambled to Brienne and interjected, “I know, let’s all go to breakfast. Food sounds positively divine. I know my appetite is aroused. Come along good sister.” He tugged on Brienne’s arm and managed to get her to move towards the direction of the exit. She only allowed it because Sansa had gotten up and had begun to follow them out.

Jaime waited for Littlefinger to pass them. He would never place his back anywhere near that man, and he wanted to make sure that his wife’s back was covered as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank all of you for reading this and your continued support.


	24. After Thoughts

Jaime was the last one to enter the private dining hall, and he sat next to Brienne. Her glare never left the obsequious Lord of the Vale that stuck close to Sansa’s side like glue.

The servants entered, each one holding plates piled with breakfast foods. They flittered about the room, offering the bounty to the nobility. Jaime had to nudge Brienne’s arm to get her attention, but when she still ignored him, he reached over and shoveled a heaping amount of bacon and eggs onto her plate. He grabbed a passing plate of breakfast cakes as well. When she finally glanced down at her plate, her eyes widened at the amount of food in front of her.

“Please love. You need to eat and recover your strength. For you both.” Jaime said in quiet earnest.

Nodding, she began to eat distractedly, her gaze drifting once more in Baelish’s direction.

Littlefinger studied the newly married couple and then nodded to himself as if he answered his own unspoken question. Instantly, Jaime was on guard. He did not care for the way Littlefinger looked at them as if they were pawns for him to manipulate. 

In his usual cordial tone, Baelish asked, “Lady Brienne, how you are feeling? I was told that dogs attacked you. I hope you did not suffer much.” Ignoring the scowl she aimed his way, he continued, “Yes, it must have been very scary.” He nodded at Jaime, “I am sure you were concerned as well, my Lord.”

Jaime only nodded his reply. Though Littlefinger sounded sincere, Jaime knew him too well ever to trust him. 

Once more, Baelish turned to Brienne and prodded her to see what would happen, “Why Lady Brienne, you look positively glowing… or is that growing? Already working on making little men?”

Jaime decided that there was no need to hide anything from Baelish. Even if he lied, the man would find out soon enough. Practically everyone at the Keep already knew about Brienne’s condition. Being so far from home, Jaime had feared for their safety, but he could handle Littlefinger. Jaime finally answered, “Yes, we are very happy to be expecting a child.” He quickly kissed the back of Brienne’s hand and stared lovingly into her eyes.

Littlefinger nodded, impressed, “That was fast work, but congratulations anyway.” He focused on Brienne, “I trust that you will no longer get involved in things that do not concern you, my Lady. We certainly do not want anything to happen to the potential heir of Casterly Rock.”

Jaime seethed internally, but he knew how to play the game well enough that one should never openly react to obvious threats. His wife, though, did not care for such ploys and instead relied on honor and truth to answer for her. 

Jaime quickly placed his hand over Brienne’s when it clutched a butter knife in anger. He had wanted to relive memories of Harrenhal, but not this part. Attempting to distract her, he waved a pastry in front of her face, “Here, try a breakfast cake. They’re very good.” 

Baelish’s eyes flicked down to see Brienne release the knife reluctantly. He grinned when she took the puffy pastry offered and bit into it angrily. Jaime could almost see the calculating look in the man’s eyes, as if he was figuring how he could use this knowledge to his advantage.

Not caring for such attention aimed their way; Jaime distracted the vile man by loudly asking, “Lord Baelish, how is my niece? I trust you got her safely away from Dorne before you came up here.”

“Yes, yes, I managed to free her.” Littlefinger then shrewdly focused on him, almost as if daring to speak out the truth as to who really fathered Robert Baratheon’s children.   
Everyone knew this horribly kept secret, but no one would say it out loud as to the true of parentage for Myrcella and her brothers. “She is now back alive.” 

Relieved, Jaime sat back a bit. Brienne smiled faintly to her husband and lightly squeezed his hand reassuringly. 

Baelish opened his mouth, no doubt to needle them some more. Fearing Littlefinger would push them too far, Tyrion interjected quickly, “So what brings you here, Baelish, if you don’t mind my asking? You know, from one lord to another.”

Somehow, Baelish made his slight shoulder shrug condescending, “Why I wanted to congratulate Lady Sansa on her reclaiming her ancestral home. A Stark should be Warden of the North.”

“Yes, funny about that,” Brienne growled out. “We seem to have run into a couple of bounty hunters who said they were employed by you to kidnap her.”

His beady eyes did not reflect the blasé movement of his hand as he waved her accusations off dismissively, “Many people dislike me and have reason to lie.” 

“Careful Baelish,” said Tyrion in a light voice, “you are starting to sound paranoid. One must not let power inflate one’s own sense of worth.”

Baelish smiled to the smaller man, “I see you have never had that problem, my Lord.”

Tyrion shrugged noncommittally and replied, “Alas, that is the issue with reputations.” He indicated Brienne, “Some are known for their honesty, while others are weighed and judged by their past actions without the benefit of the doubt.”

Always wanting the last word, Baelish stated flippantly, “Exactly, I was simply maligned.”

Brienne had had as much as she could stomach, both in conversation and breakfast. She shoved her plate away and got up. “Please excuse me.”

Not waiting to be properly dismissed, she strode from the room. Jaime grinned, pleased at her actions and then nodded to those still seated, “If you will also excuse me.” And he then followed his wife from the room.

Tyrion glanced at Sansa, who seemed deep in thought. He could not help but see the look of adoration that Littlefinger aimed at his wife. Internally, he glowered, realizing that Baelish might be more trouble than he had first thought.

*

Jaime had already lost sight of his wife, which was saying something since she was still too sore to move very fast. After inquiring to a Wilding, he followed the hastily pointed fingers toward the gated area of the weirwoods. 

An ornate carriage had just arrived inside the snow-covered courtyard, and a well-dressed man stepped down from inside. Jaime had forgotten that the official coronation to acknowledge Sansa as Warden of the North would take place in a few days. 

Just what they needed, he thought, first Littlefinger and now these lack wit Northern nobles showing up. With a tired sigh, he figured he best deal with one situation at a time and angled towards the fenced weirwood trees enclosure.

He followed Brienne’s trail through the freshly fallen snow and soon found himself in the copse of weirwood trees. Surprisingly, he found Brienne by the Godswood tree, peacefully sitting cross-legged near its trunk. As he approached her, the crunch of his boots in the snow alerted her to his presence. She did not acknowledge him, so he stated, “I did not know you were a follower of the Old Ones. Holding out on me, wench?”

Brienne sighed tiredly and with a grimace moved over to give him room to sit between the large tree roots. “It saved my life, so I wanted to thank it.”

Nodding, Jaime took her unspoken invitation and sat down next to her. He grimaced when he took in the carved features of the face in the old tree. It always gave him the creeps.

Taking a deep breath, Brienne shut her eyes once again. 

It is relaxing here, Jaime thought. Following his wife’s example, he too took a deep inhale and then let it slowly out. Surprisingly, he felt the tension and pressure of the last few months begin to dissipate. Then his mind began to wander; his gaze shifted about the arboreal setting. 

As a feeling of tranquility overcame him, Jaime wondered if the weirwood at Casterly Rock would also bring up such peaceful feelings. He grimaced. In retrospect, that poor thing always looked sicker than anything. Perhaps when they returned home, he’d look into how to save it. From what he recalled, that one was a gnarled piece of anger. As he studied the healthy tree above him, he wondered if theirs had been somehow poisoned.

He shook his head and questioned why he was suddenly thinking about things back home. After one deeper exhale, he shut his eyes, intent on relaxing. 

He was just settling down when he heard the faint whisper of his name. Immediately, his eyes flew opened, and he was shocked to see that winter had abated. The sun was up high, and new bright red colored leaves had sprouted from the weirwood’s branches. Even the birds celebrated as they chirped merrily above. The sweet smell of spring blossoms drifted about. He turned in wonder to tell his wife, but she was not at his side. 

Jaime shot to his feet in worry. Before he could call out to her, he heard his name spoken again, yet this time it was closer.

Turning, he realized that that the old carved face in the trunk of the tree had changed. Surprisingly, it looked like an older Bran Stark. He snorted to himself and shook his head. He raised his hands, ruffling his hair and…hands? 

He had both his hands! 

Shocked and elated, he cried out in joy and studied them. Flexing his fingers on his right hand, he waved them through the warm spring air. Even when he pinched them, it felt real, and the sensation of the quick sharp pain was achingly pleasant for once.

He glanced around, hoping that Brienne would be nearby so he could show her. Instead, he saw that the face in the trunk had opened its eyes. They were Bran’s eyes, eyes that had last stared at him in shock as he’d pushed the boy from a tower window so long ago.

Jaime gasped, “Bran Stark?”

The grooved face stared at him benignly.

Jaime suddenly shook his head, wondering if he had gone mad. The first thing that came to his mind had him asking, “Did you send Wull to help my wife?”

Tree Bran smiled, and Jaime knew that he had been responsible for sending his wife the much needed aid. He replied gratefully, “Thank you.” 

Jaime suddenly laughed. Deciding that if he had gone crazy, it was probably from all the remorse he carried over what he had done to this child. If that was so, maybe now was the time to alleviate some of this guilt. Sincerely, he stated, “I am sorry for what I did to you.”

But for once the eyes did not stare at him accusatorily, as they always had whenever he dreamt of that horrible day.

In fact, there was no judgment in Tree Bran’s features, at all, only sympathy. Sensing a change in Bran’s countenance, Jaime glanced once again at his right hand. It was a misshapen gnarl of a stump again, a mockery of the greatness that it had been only a moment before. 

Though Tree Bran’s mouth did not move, Jaime heard a voice instruct him to touch the Godswood trunk.

As if compelled by an unknown force, Jaime found himself doing so. The moment his stump touched the course wood, visions suddenly assaulted him.

Images of the younger Stark children and their escorts making their way up North past the Wall flashed through his mind. In the vision, he saw a large man—no, it was Bran, somehow Bran was controlling this giant of a man… it should not make any sense, but being in this perspective, it did. The vision suddenly altered and Jaime’s viewpoint was changed once more.

Abruptly, he felt cold and disorientated and flinched when he heard someone yell a gruff threat nearby. Spinning around, he briefly caught his reflection in a broken window pane and saw that he was now the blonde-haired giant of a man; but this time, it was Jaime who controlled the hulking brute instead of Bran.

There was snow everywhere, and Jaime squinted as he took in the dilapidated windmill behind him. The youngest Stark, Rickon, his muddled brain reminded him, huddled on the frozen ground, a female Wilding trying to protect him from the men that circled around them. Jaime suddenly knew they had been hiding from those who pursued them, and because of him, they had been found.

Once more he heard the leader’s accusatory voice, and Jaime turned when he recognized those mocking words. A very familiar man stood over Bran’s supine body, ready to kill him. Jaime instantly knew this attacker and sneered in rage.

Locke! Jaime hissed in anger. Without a thought, Jaime lunged at him, his large hands reaching out to grab Locke’s throat and he began to squeeze. Locke struggled, but he was no match for Jaime’s brute strength. In moments, he had choked the life from Locke’s worthless body, his thin throat straining in Jaime’s powerful grasp. It felt so exhilarating and wonderful to finally get his revenge… to make this man suffer for what he had put him and Brienne through all that time ago. 

As Locke’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground, Jaime felt his mind being pulled away, of losing control of this large body. But there was also a new feeling he felt—that of being at peace with his past.

Quickly, Jaime opened his eyes, momentarily confused. He was back where he had started, with his lovely wench quiet at his side. The only sign of time passing was an ache in his knees from sitting in one position for too long. He stared up at the Godswood tree, but the old face in the trunk of the tree was as still and inscrutable as ever. 

Jaime’s mind had never felt clearer, though. He flexed his good hand and let out a sigh. He did not understand why or how, but Bran Stark had allowed him to watch Locke die, even participate. He doubted the boy forgave him. Hell, Jaime would never forgive himself for pushing that child out of a window. But Bran did show him that link to his past, and it almost felt as if Bran wanted Jaime to know that his ties to that time no longer mattered, that he could start anew and finally let go of who he had been. 

Perhaps Bran’s shared vision was not so much as giving forgiveness, but as permission—permission for Jaime to move on. Maybe Bran recognized that the violent, selfish man who had pushed him out that window was no longer the man sitting in the roots of the Godswood. Jaime shook his head. He would never understand any of this. 

Regardless of Bran’s intentions, Jaime knew he had to tell Sansa that her brothers were still alive and somewhere up North past the Wall. He imagined that Sansa would probably have a better time communicating with her brother through the Godswood tree, which made him wonder why Bran had shown him anything at all.

He cast a quick glance at his wife, who was still deep in meditation. Good, Jaime thought. He wanted to tell Sansa right away, but he feared that Brienne would only insist on heading further North to find the Stark boys.

Feeling guilty, Jaime slowly stood up, grimacing at how sore his knees felt. He leaned over and gave Brienne a quick kiss on the top of her head and whispered, “I must go now. It is far too cold out here.”

Still meditative, Brienne kept her eyes closed and made an encouraging noise under her breath to her husband. With a light pat on her shoulder, he made his way back to the Keep. If, at any time, the thought of how ludicrous the entire situation might seem to others came to mind, he readily ignored it. 

Once more the compulsion to tell Sansa what he had seen had overtaken all normal reason, and he rushed back into the main Keep of Winterfell.

Eventually, Jaime found Sansa in the musty library going over a map with her brother Jon. Podrick sat in the corner eating an apple and smiled at Jaime when he entered. Jaime was pleased to see that the lad was getting some color back to his features. 

Jaime also noted that Tyrion was missing, and he figured his brother was probably taking solace in a bottle by now.

“My Lady—” Jaime winced when a startled Sansa visibly flinched, and her brother glanced up at him sharply.

Chagrined, Sansa forced a smile at the man before her. Though she had said she forgave him, Jaime knew that deep down, she would always be wary of the Lannisters. And there was still a judgmental glint in Sansa’s eyes that reminded him too much of her mother. He wished his brother good luck with his betrothal to the new Warden. 

Swallowing his irritation, Jaime mockingly bowed. “I will keep this brief. I think you are right that your brothers are alive. I believe they are North, beyond the Wall.” As the two Starks gaped at him, Jaime continued, “Your brother Bran just contacted me in a most interesting way.” Sansa’s surprised expression twisted into a scowl and Jaime thought of a certain wench who warmed his bed at night and whom often wore that same expression. 

It was Jon who answered gruffly, “Shut the door Lannister and keep your voice down. We don’t want certain parties to overhear.” 

Jaime figured they were concerned about Littlefinger, and with good reason. Nodding, he did as Jon ordered. At least they stopped calling him Kingslayer. Approaching the duo, he glanced down at the map and saw that they had put two Stark markers further up North. “You already know they are past the Wall?”

Jon nodded to the map, “Yes, certain information leads us to believe that you are correct about the status of our brothers. We are now trying to determine where they might be found.”

Sansa focused on Jaime, “Did he tell you where exactly they were?”

Jaime shook his head, “Sorry, I only know what he showed me, and it was not much. There were an old windmill and a hut, snow everywhere.” He did not know how to explain that he had somehow controlled another man through Bran’s mind, and figured they did not need to know that detail anyway. 

“I cannot believe that my brother spoke to you of all people,” Sansa groused, her tone resentful. 

A smug Jaime leaned his hip on the old wooden desk and studied them. “I take it he hasn’t communicated with you?”

She shook her head dejectedly. “Just how did he contact you?”

“The wife and I were meditating by that Godstree of yours, and I saw Bran… well, I saw his face in the trunk of the tree.” He grimaced as the memories resurfaced. 

“You say his face was part of the weirwood trunk? As if he had been absorbed by it?” Sansa appeared horrified and shuddered. 

Jaime nodded grimly. “Yes, my lady.” He figured it did sound pretty dreadful. He tried to mollify her, “But he seemed alright with it.” Before Sansa could ask any more uncomfortable questions, Jaime stated, “Regardless, there should be a group that goes up there and finds them.”

Jon cocked his head to the side, his arms akimbo as he mirthlessly took in Jaime from head to toe, “You volunteering, Lannister?”

The Lord Lion snorted, “Oh no, I have a castle to get to, peons to rule, an heir to raise. But I do fear that my wife might volunteer.”

Sansa shook her head emphatically and opened her mouth to protest, but Jon beat her to it. “I like your wife too much to ask that of her. I must head North in a few days, anyway, to fulfill my part of the bargain with the Wildings. I will look for my brothers then.”

Relieved, Jaime nodded his thanks to Snow. Then he had a worrisome thought, “My wife can be stubborn.”

Jon barked out a laugh, “Just don’t tell her, then.”

“No, Brienne is very peculiar when she is kept out of the loop; it only spurs her on to action.” He sighed, “I will tell her.”

“Lord Jaime, was there anything else you learned that might help Jon on his quest?” Sansa’s tone was nearly pleading.

Jaime might have made the promise to Brienne to be forthright, but not to these people. He refused to reveal that he had been in that giant man’s body, nor that he had murdered Locke and how good it felt. Instead, he shook his head and told them, “Nothing much more, just what I told you. Sorry, I wish I could be more helpful.” And he did mean it. Sensing that was all, Jon and Sansa reluctantly nodded their thanks to Jaime.

Using this as an excuse to leave, Jaime bowed and left. He might as well seek out Brienne and let her know the truth. He sighed loudly. This was already proving to be a long day. He wondered if she would believe that he had possessed some giant of a man and that their final revenge had been done to the bastard who had threatened her and had taken his hand.

*

Brienne stood by the massive indoor fireplace that helped warm the main entryway to Winterfell, trying to rub the chill away from her hands and body. She ignored the sounds of people coming and going as more noble guests and their servants arrived.

The official coronation was to be in two days, and the Northern nobility that usually resided to the south had begun to show up. She frowned when she recognized Lord Rodrik Ryswell stomping into the room, knocking the snow from his clothes and boots. She did not forget how he and the other aristocracy treated Lady Sansa when she had begged for their help.

The lord marched up to the Head Steward to demand an immediate audience with Lady Sansa. Brienne could not help but smile when he was loudly told he would have to wait until later to see the Warden. Grumbling, the lord sneered and berated the man, but there was nothing that could be done.

Brienne reflected that Jaime had been right; the nobility had no choice but to acquiesce to Sansa’s rule if they wished to be a part of the new North. She felt immense satisfaction and was pleased that all the hardships she and her husband had suffered had worked out for the better. 

When the petulant lord stormed from the room, Brienne exhaled once more. 

She felt more at peace after her morning meditation in front of the massive Godswood tree than she had in a long time. Thoughts of the sycophant Littlefinger and his possible machinations against Lady Sansa had been quelled somewhat. Even these arrogant nobles converging onto the Keep could not ruin her mood.

That time of introspection had also helped her reflect that, all in all, it had been a productive honeymoon. Sure, many would consider their time unorthodox, but since when was her life conventional? Many vows had been accomplished to the best of her abilities, and the freedom she felt was exhilarating. 

Stuck in the pleasant thoughts of finally being able to relax and enjoy her time with her new husband and—soon—their child, Brienne did not notice Jaime sneaking up on her.   
Not being able to help himself, Jaime saddled up beside her and whispered, “Did you see anything when you were meditating? Experience anything… odd?”

Brienne frowned, “Other than dozing off, freezing my hands and feet, and getting a crick in my neck, no.” She turned and rested her hands on Jaime’s hips. “But it did relax me enough that I now have the energy to try out those thermal pools again.” This time her voice held a hint of possibilities that caused her husband to grin, and he tugged her close against him. 

“Keep up that tone, wench,” he teased, “and I will take you in front of this very fire.” Surreptitiously glancing at all the milling people, he pulled her in even tighter to his form. 

Blushing, Brienne could feel that he was semi-erect. She smiled that she still had such an effect on him, bruises, scars and all, and she brushed a hand against his groin. 

When he cleared his constricting throat, Brienne’s grin grew wider. Jaime then continued seriously, “But first, I need to tell you something.”

Jaime towed her into a secluded alcove. Quickly exhaling, he stated, “I know for a fact that the younger Stark boys are alive and further north, past the Wall.”

Her eyes became bright from joy, “That’s wonderful news! I am so glad they are alive! I take it Jon is going to go look for them?”

Jaime hissed as he hastily glanced back out towards the fire. Thankfully, no one had heard her exuberance. He admonished, “Quiet wench.” 

Brienne frowned for a moment and then appeared chastised, “Right, Littlefinger.”

He moved as if to place his hand over her mouth, but stopped at the last moment. Instead, he whispered, “Don’t say his name; it might make him magically appear.”

She glared down at him, and their slight height difference was noticeable for once. Displeased, she growled, “Do not mock me, my lord.”

He mollified her by sounding contrite, “Sorry, but I was kind of expecting a slightly different answer in regards to the Stark children being alive.” She just stared at him. “Such as that you might feel the need to go find them.”

Brienne’s smile was sweet, and she shyly grasped his left hand, “Jaime, I do not feel the need to pursue them. Lady Sansa has Winterfell, and her family now has a safe place to come home to whenever they choose.” She thought of how Arya had rebuffed her out of distrust and did not doubt that the brothers would do the same to any stranger as well. “Frankly, I feel I have done everything I can do to help them.” She then placed his stump on her heart and then moved it down to her stomach. “Besides, I already have a vow that I promised to cherish above all else.” 

“Oh, wench.” He could not help himself and grabbed her for a kiss that started out rough with emotion but soon lessened in intensity to one of prolonged lust. Her sudden guttural moan made him harder.

With a sly grin, she then pulled him along, and both dashed to the underground baths. They made sure they were alone in the humid room and then barred the door from any possible entry.

*

This time she slowly disrobed for him; thankfully, whatever twitches or grimaces she made did not stop her from easily shrugging off her clothes. She ignored the new puncture scars on her ankle and wrist, as well as the colorful bruising that decorated her body, as if they competed against the multitude of freckles for dominance. Even the slight bulge of her pregnant belly did not make her self-conscious anymore.

Seductively, she entered the water, proud and defiant just for him.

He nearly tripped over his clothes in his haste to take them off and join her in the water. She eyed his resilient muscular form with a wide grin of pleasure. He would always be her golden knight.

This time the words were barely out of his mouth when she stood up tall, regal, domineering. The clear water was running rivulets off her strong body. Jaime licked his lips.

After she had raised an eyebrow at him, he coughed, “Oh, yes, sorry.”

He stood up and they met in the middle of the simmering water. Then, with a knowing smirk, Jaime suddenly fainted into her arms.

Brienne grabbed him, but just as she began to bring him around and reverently say his name, she found she was off balance. They teetered and tipped, and Brienne lost her grip. 

A surprised Jaime suddenly found himself submerged in the water. He flailed a moment, splashing about like a Tully trout. Brienne grappled for his arms and brought him up to the surface again. Gurgling and sputtering, Jaime released a stream of water from his mouth like an almost-elegant fountain. 

Brienne couldn’t help but laugh, and Jaime glared at her twinkling blue eyes. Not at all sounding remorseful, she said, “I’m sorry my Lord, you caught me unprepared! It seems that you’ve put on a bit of weight since your incarceration of long ago…”

He sank until just his sharp jade-colored eyes were above the surface. She shuddered when she recognized that mischievous look in his gaze. It was probably what had gotten her pregnant in the first place, she mused. Instantly, he pounced, and instead of dunking her as she expected, he grabbed her tight and quickly shut any protests up when he instantly began licking the water off her neck.

Sighing, she rather liked this version of the past.

*

Later, Jaime lay back against her; her strong arms encircled him this time. Though they languished in post-coital bliss, Brienne could not help the anxiety that bubbled to the surface of her mind like the warm waters around them. The future was a constant worry. 

As if sensing her concern, Jaime lightly rubbed her long muscular thigh and asked, “Don’t tell me that wasn’t to your satisfaction, wife. Our trip down memory lane certainly lived up to my expectations and more.”

She sighed loudly, “No, husband, that was perfect.”

Jaime wondered if maybe she had been put off by what he had confided to her about Bran’s visit. “I would think that you would be happy to know for a fact that Locke was dead.” 

“Yes, yes,” she answered distractedly.

Now he knew something was wrong. He could not help but jape, “And that I can talk to trees.”

Still inattentive, she hummed her acknowledgment.

Jaime sounded vexed when he asked, “Then please tell me what is bothering you?”

His tone broke her from her bothersome thoughts. Brienne spoke quickly, “Do not fear I have changed my mind about any further oaths, it is just…” Her voice petered off.  
Jaime’s hand stopped rubbing her leg, “Out with it, wife.”

Resting her chin on his shoulder, she sighed, “Your father will be most upset about the things we have done up North. We will soon have to leave for Casterly Rock, and I imagine once we get there, we will encounter trouble.” 

Jaime cursed silently. Brienne had been quiet and distracted ever since Tyrion had confessed to sending a raven to their father. It may have seemed harmless at the time—or perhaps not, for that was never Tyrion’s intention when it came to their father—but Jaime knew that it had bothered Brienne. Surely by now, though, the Kingsguard had sent their own missives back to Lord Tywin announcing Brienne’s pregnancy and their intent to settle at Casterly Rock. That, at least, should subdue the old man a bit.

He could only try his best to allay her concerns. Once more his hand rubbed along her leg, but it was less lazy now, revealing his own anxiety at the unknown. “How can he be when he’s getting his heart’s desire? A legitimate heir. Tywin Lannister has never wanted anything so much.”

Brienne answered him with a look. After a pensive moment she stated, “We went against his express wishes.”

Nodding in acquiescence, Jaime agreed. “You are right, father will be most displeased with our actions, but he will not do anything to us. He dares not.”

Brienne often marveled at the confidence the Lannisters seemed to wear like armor. “Your father is very clever and rather vengeful.” 

Settling deeper into her tight hold, Jaime said, “Oh, he will be mad, but what you carry within you will appease him somewhat. And, over time, he will focus on other things.” His tone reflected the grin he wore, “Like the other children we will give him.” 

But the more he thought about it, the more he believed that Brienne might be right about his father’s retribution after all. It seemed that drastic measures could be called for.   
“Humph,” she grunted nearly swatting the back of his head.

He quickly tried to pacify her, “How about I talk to my brother and see what he thinks is best to do. He always seems to have the right answers.” 

Jaime felt her nod against his shoulder. 

So that he might face her, he turned and straddled her thighs. He rested his strong arms on either side of her so that he could focus on those brilliant blue eyes of hers. “Regardless, I assure you that whatever retribution my father tries against us, we will face it together and persevere.”

She was close to relenting, especially when he leaned forward and ardently focused on suckling one of her earlobes. Pulling her mind back from his devoted attentions, she said, “I do not want to make an enemy of your father.”

Settling back, he then kissed her lips and began to rub her shoulder with his hand, trying to ease the tension in her body. “He will be very far away,” he whispered. “I told you that he has vowed never set foot in Casterly Rock again.”

Slightly appeased, she relaxed under his ministrations and allowed him to continue comforting her in the most delightful ways.


	25. Loose Ends

Much later, a very relaxed Jaime parted from his satiated wife. As she headed back to their room to take a much-deserved nap, he strolled to his brother’s last known location. His visit to Tyrion had been long overdue. 

On his way there, Jaime passed servants who dashed about the Old Keep in preparation for the coronation of making Sansa Stark the official Warden of the North. But first there would be a welcoming party for all their Northern guests and Jaime grimaced at the thought of attending such a volatile affair. He would much rather hunker down with his wife in their room.

As the decorations and cleaning continued, the just arrived Northern nobility were being shown to their chambers. If they were upset that a young girl was being given such power, they wisely remained quiet. Jaime supposed it helped that Winterfell was still brimming with Wildings and Northern Clans fighters. No doubt that kept Lord Manderly and the other dissenting gentry in check.

Jaime nodded in approval. It was smart that Lady Sansa held the coronation now while she still had a large standing army camped outside the gates. In a few days, and once the aristocracy was gone, Jon was going to lead his fighters beyond the Wall. A small garrison would remain at the Keep in case there was any trouble. 

The fickle noble Lords had lost many supporters when they chose not to openly condemn Lord Bolton and his malicious spawn. Lady Sansa had proven that not only was she capable of leading a revolution and stirring the hearts of her people, but of being a fair and capable Warden.

Jaime noticed an irritated Lord Ryswell berating a servant, and decided that was not a fight he wished to join. Ducking down a side corridor, Jaime approached his brother’s private study. 

He wondered how Tyrion was taking all this. Being a Lannister, most people distrusted him and his family by nature, but especially when it came to power. The irony was that Tyrion held no sway over Sansa. 

After his hasty knock, a curt call to enter sounded. Jaime stepped into the chamber and his question was instantly answered. He found a drunken Tyrion halfway three sheets to the wind. The large bottle of wine was on its side on the table, empty, and a second bottle was nearly finished as well.

Although the room had last been occupied by Roose Bolton, most of his adornments had been tossed into a pile by the fireplace. Jaime saw that the Bolton coat of arms was burning in the hearth, adding warmth. An odd odor clung to the air, and it smelled slightly familiar. Jaime hoped the shield had not been covered with the actual flayed, dried skins of Bolton’s enemies.

He was pleased to see that Tyrion had put up the Lannister banner on one of the walls. It hung crooked, but at least some symbol of the family crest had been put up. The rest of the room was a complete mess. It was very unlike his brother’s usual meticulousness.

When Tyrion saw Jaime, he drunkenly smiled up at him. With a quick motion, he indicated for Jaime to sit down at the table across from him.

As he did so, Tyrion poured Jaime a generous cup of wine, emptying the bottle. After a hesitant sip, Jaime hummed in pleasure to the flavor of the wine.

Tyrion easily recognized the appreciative look, and he could not agree more. “Never did trust a man who didn’t drink, but Ned Stark certainly made sure his wine cellar was well stocked.” Tyrion mockingly raised a toast to his dead father-in-law.

After what Jaime had gone through with the Godswood tree, he cautiously glanced around, expecting the ghost of the slain Warden of the North to flitter about overhead, raining curses on those below. Thankfully, there was not even a cold draft leaking into the room.

“So, how goes married life, brother?” Tyrion teased.

Jaime hid his grin, trying not to gloat in front of his brother, who was obviously having marital issues. “No complaints.”

Tyrion recognized that smirk anywhere. “You dog—oh, how I miss sex. Do you think my wife would mind if I tarried into town in search of a warm whore?”

Jaime frowned and began to interrupt, but Tyrion continued, “I mean she certainly has no problems bedding that young squire, after all.” The betrayal could be heard easily in his tone. Podrick was Tyrion’s first and only squire, the only one who had his back at the whole Blackwater battle. Tyrion laughed ruefully. “I thought I was doing the boy a favor when I sent him away with your lady wife. Who could have predicted that he would… engrain himself so with the cause? I suppose I must congratulate him on his dedication. What, warming my wife’s bed night after night so she doesn’t catch a chill.”

Wobbling, Tyrion got up and grabbed a third bottle of wine from the bookcase and dramatically landed it on the table with a loud thunk. In front of his bemused brother, Tyrion refilled his own goblet without spilling; he’d had a lot of practice over the years to not waste a drop.

Jaime weakly tried to spin things better. “Podrick is a good lad—” 

Snorting into his cup, Tyrion chirped, “Oh yes, I’ve heard he’s very good.” 

Jaime tried to mollify his brother. He wondered if the same methods he used on his wench would work here. “Brienne said she has talked to Sansa about it, and the Warden knows that their dalliances must stop.”

“Not from what I see. And with the Keep filling up with these Northern lords, it will not take long for the servants to start waggling their tongues at the drop of a coin. Even Sansa does not yet command that much loyalty.” Tyrion shook his head in anger. “Soon they will whisper behind my back about my philandering wife. I can handle the usual hisses of contempt about my lineage and size. It is one thing to be ridiculed for my height and quite another to be mocked for a woman!” Tyrion slammed his cup hard against the table and forlornly watched as some wine sloshed out in a dark pool.

Jaime moved uncomfortably in his seat.

Tyrion continued to grumble, “And when Father gets wind of this truth, he will ruin everything. Maybe I should take back Casterly Rock from you. There are plenty of willing women there who appreciated my large—wit. It would be nice to be properly warmed at night.”

Again, Jaime began to interrupt, but Tyrion overrode him, “I can be a good husband, Jaime. Back at King’s Landing I never once touched her. Father nearly had a fit, but I knew she would be scared and I did not want to rush her. And then that damn fiasco of your son dying, and then my being accused—I know I could have eventually won Sansa over with time. And it should be easier now that she is no longer a shy maiden—”

Softly Jaime agreed, “But Podrick is here. I understand, brother.”

“You do? I am not some horrible monster demanding that all her happiness be removed? That she must only belong to me?”

Jaime smiled, “No, brother. It is very understandable what you desire. And regardless, you are correct, your marriage must be whole if you are to present a united front. The Northern lords will use it against you both, and father will see it as a weakness of which he might take advantage. Sansa needs to decide what is better, a Stark ruling Winterfell or a Lannister army invading her lands.”

Tyrion looked so hopeful that Jaime could not help the grin plastered on his face. His brother meant the world to him, and he ached to see him so lonely and displaced.   
Finally, Jaime said, “When Brienne and I leave, we will take her squire with us. Podrick belongs under the Lannister banner, not the Stark’s. And there is much for him to do at Casterly. Besides, I think my wife would like to have him back; they grew rather close after all.”

Tyrion wagged his eyebrows comically, “Just how close, brother?”

If he hadn’t known his wench so well, Jaime would have wondered himself. Instead he chuckled, “Close enough to consider him a younger brother.”

The topic reminded Jaime of another subject that he had been concerned about. “Speaking of father, I fear what awaits my wife and me when we journey south again.”   
Tyrion’s glassy eyes stared at him perplexed, so Jaime explained to his inebriated brother, “He told us specifically not to do anything other than killing Stannis.” 

Tyrion shrugged, “Lie? Tell him Bolton turned against you as he had the Starks—”

“My lovely wife told father our entire plans before we even headed up here.”

Tyrion rapped his head against the table a few times. “She really is too honorable to be a Lannister,” he groused. He tapped his fingers on the wooden surface. “Well, your actions did help bring peace to the North. Things were rather tenuous up here when King Tommen sided with Bolton. Eventually, many citizens would have turned against the king’s rule. Sell it as a win-win for the kingdom.” 

Jaime sighed at his brother’s flippant tone. 

Tyrion’s mismatched eyes gazed into his brother’s even green ones, “Brother, you are the golden boy—with a golden hand, and a golden heir soon to be born. Besides, he would never do anything to hurt either you or your wife. You and she are the legacies he has always wanted.” Jaime could hear the bitterness in his brother’s tone.

“I hope you are right.” Jaime’s fingers caressed the stem of the chalice.

Finally relenting, Tyrion in all seriousness stated, “Trust me, Jaime. I know father’s ire. Yes, he will be upset, but in the long run, the North does not concern him much. The power is just not here. Now as for Casterly Rock—”

“You are not getting it, brother,” Jaime snarled, his playful grin taking some of the bites out of his words.

Tyrion raised his hands in a placating gesture, “Yes, yes. Keep it. I didn’t want it anyway.” 

They both laughed at the absurdity of the situation. 

Taking another gulp of wine, Jaime leaned back in his chair. As his eyes wandered the room, so did his thoughts. There was still one last loose end that needed to be tended to. 

“So, any idea what your good wife is planning to do with Littlefinger?” Jaime asked. “You know he will do everything in his power to control her.”

Tyrion snorted, “You’d be surprised whom my wife allows to control her and whom she does not.” Noticing his brother’s frown, Tyrion shrugged. “It is her decision. What with her official coronation occurring in a few days, it will be decided sooner than later.”

There was something about his brother’s tone that made Jaime want to dig more. “So his presence is not worrisome?”

Tyrion took a thoughtful sip of wine. “Yes, as long as that man is alive, he is a threat,” he conceded. 

After a moment of introspective silence, Tyrion mused, “The funny thing is, I still want to protect her. So many people, our family especially, have hurt her. I feel responsible for most of what was done to her.”

“Father victimized you both.” Jaime, too, carried guilt, but it was over his brother.

The smaller man shrugged, “I don’t even know if I can sleep with her. She still seems so young and innocent.” He ruefully grinned. “Even after being with Podrick, that hasn’t changed my desire to protect her.” Tyrion became maudlin again. “She is too good for me.”

Studying his dour brother, Jaime stated, “I know how you feel, brother. I felt the same way about Brienne in the beginning. But you have become a good man, we both have. Our selfish ways are behind us now.” 

Jaime thought of what Bran had shown him. “Maybe we should forgive our past, but not forget it.”

Noticing his brother shaking his head, Jaime became adamant, “Regardless of your scruples, you must bed Sansa. Father will want proof that you two have truly united. Soon he will demand an heir to prove a successful alliance.”

Bitterly, Tyrion glanced away. “Father is counting on her to be too repulsed to sleep with me. The bastard is convinced that only whores will sleep with the Imp.”

Jaime hated when his brother got like this; he really needed to stop drinking so much. It led to self-pitying thoughts. Jaime figured that maybe some levity was called for, “Well, whatever you do, don’t trust any medicinal concoctions father sends you way.”

Instead of a comeback, Tyrion nodded absently, his mind obviously moving on to other things. Jaime easily recognized that introspective expression. “Just what is that mind of yours hatching now, brother?”

“Hum—nothing for you to worry your pretty head about,” Tyrion said. He twisted his empty cup in his hand. After a moment, he looked back up at Jaime, his gaze sharp again. “So, tell me the details about that lovely, if tall, wife of yours.” 

It was not difficult to notice the barely-concealed delight that rushed into Jaime’s face as he shrugged nonchalantly. “Come now,” Tyrion goaded, swinging the conversation back into a safe territory, “those long, strong legs could easily choke a man.”

Being raised as a gentleman, Jaime only smirked. “Well, I will say she is quite a lioness in bed.” His brother quickly blinked in shock, clearly not expecting such a confirmation. Jaime laughed at his expression and continued, “Oh yes. I don’t know if it is due to the pregnancy or just all those years of pent-up frustration, but she is insatiable.” 

Tyrion sat back in his seat hard and whistled, his own troubles nearly forgotten. “Insatiable you say…”

“Completely. There are times I can barely move the next morning.” Jaime’s wistful grin made Tyrion want to hit him.

“Well, it does pay to be married to a younger woman,” Tyrion sniped from jealousy.

Instead of taking this as an affront, Jaime nodded. “That it does, brother. That it does.” He studied his sibling. “You will have an heir from Sansa. She knows what she must do if she wants to hang onto her title.”

The drink made Tyrion argumentative. “Yes, it certainly does my ego well to have that reason as to why she finally accepts me into her bed.”

Jaime shrugged. “She will get over Podrick with time and come to recognize what you bring to this marriage—not just as a Lannister, but as a husband. But it will take her time.”

Tyrion made disjointed patterns with the spilled wine with his index finger. “As long as the child looks nothing like Podrick, then I will be fine.” 

Jaime ruefully chuckled to his brother, “Then it is best that father never makes it up here.”

Tyrion raised his cup. “Here, here.” And they both toasted to long distance family.

*

When Jaime came back from his brother’s rooms, he found his wife still sleeping soundly. Quietly slipping out of his clothes, he snuggled against Brienne’s slack body and drifted off to sleep. 

After a luxurious afternoon nap, they awoke in each other’s arms. At first, they began to lazily caress one another which led to them slowly making love, reveling in one another’s comfort and delight.

A few hours later, they once more stirred from an even longer bout of sleep. Glancing about the darkened room, Jaime sighed and hugged his wife close. He purred in her ear, “Seems we have stayed in bed all day, my Lady Wench. Let’s say we never leave till Winter is over.”

Turning to face him, Brienne then ducked her head against his neck and lightly bit it. 

Yelping, Jaime glared at his less-than-contrite wife. 

“I’m hungry,” was her smug reply.

He chuckled and suddenly flipped her, so she was below him. His legs straddled her hips as he leaned over her, “I always knew you were a man-eater.”

She grinned and glanced down at his growing erection. “Yes, and it is something that you best not let me near.”

As he chortled at her response, he bowed downwards and grinded against the aperture between her thighs, causing her to groan in lust. She glared up at him, “Seriously, I could eat a horse.”

Jaime looked down at his crotch. “It has been called many things, wife, but never that. Though I am often compared to a stallion in many ways…” He leaned over and nipped the tip of her nose. “But never let it be said that I neglect my lovely wife.” 

Relenting, he rolled off her. Wagging his eyebrows, he asked, “Shall we eat here?”

He lustily stared at her, his hunger evident in want of more than just food.

Once more, Brienne felt her toes curl. She coughed to clear her throat, “Yes, that would be—”

Just then, there was a timid knock on the door.

“That was fast. Your turn to be the host, wife.” Jaime fluffed the pillows and laid back down staring at her, his arms propping up his head. He smugly looked at her, and then his erection, “And tell them to bring us up something sweet as well. See if they have any of that cream one whips.” He licked his lips as his gaze ratcheted over her nude body.

Smirking, she grabbed the sheet off his entwined legs and wrapped it around her bare body as she limped to the door. Thankfully, the ankle was much better, but she still could not lift the tension from her body. She had an idea that her husband would take care of that later for her, though.

Opening the door, she found the Wilding page. He flinched when he saw her, which caused her to frown. “Yes?” She curtly asked. She made sure to keep the door only slightly open so the boy could not see her husband in all his glory.

“Um, yes, my, Lady.” He stared at her; it was a look between fear and reverent awe.

“What is your problem?” She would have been nicer, but his scrutiny unnerved her.

Her challenging tone had him straightening up and declaring, “Begging your pardon, my Lady. They say that you killed the Bolton bastard’s giant hounds with just your bare hands because you are a beast yourself —”

She heard Jaime chuckle behind her. Glaring down at the impudent boy, she harshly interrupted him, “That is a ridiculous notion. Now, what is the message?”

Licking his lips nervously, he stammered, “Oh, yes, Lady Sansa requests that you and your husband meet her in one of the underground chambers for a tea service right away.”

Brienne exchanged a glance over her shoulder with her husband. He shrugged noncommittally, but she could see the dejection in his features. She must have reflected that feeling because he smiled at her in support.

Turning her attention back to the young man, she replied, “Yes, of course. Where is it exactly?”

The page had stopped trying to look around her and stated proudly, “I am to take you there once you are dressed.”

Brienne nodded, “We will be ready shortly.” So that she wouldn’t have to see the boy gaping at her anymore, she shut the door in his face.

Grousing to her husband, she said, “So much for ordering in.”

Without another word, Jaime got out of bed and they began to dress. 

As she straightened her tunic, she said, “It seems a little late for tea. I wonder why not a quiet dinner, instead?”

Jaime nodded, “Yes, I am surprised they are not preparing for tomorrow night’s welcoming party. I think the visiting Northern Lords are about to openly rebel against her.” He was only half in jest. There had been loud grumbling from the nobles, and they had both wondered who would strike first: Jon Snow or Lord Manderly.

“I am sure they see it as a slight that she doled out rewards to her true allies without their input.” Sounding hopeful, Brienne continued, “Maybe she needs my counsel once again.” Brienne felt put out that Sansa now seemed to be avoiding her.

Jaime smiled at her earnestness. Grabbing her into a hug, he snuggled her neck. “Well, I enjoy getting private counseling from you.”

She pulled away and smiled, “You’re incorrigible.”

Chuckling, he separated from her and put on his sword belt.

As an apprehensive Brienne did the same, she wondered aloud, “Do you think it is about Littlefinger?”

Thoughtful, Jaime nodded, “Since she requested this in an out of the way location, I suppose it is either him, the Northern Lords, or the Others.”

There was some concern about the possible presence of White Walker’s nearby, but the scouts had not found anything. Which was even more disconcerting, because who was influencing the dead to reanimate? All that Lord Commander Jon Snow could suppose was that one of them had to be nearby spying on them. Thus more guards were placed along the ramparts to watch for any trouble.

After dressing, they exited the room. The page had his back to them; his attention focused on the tapestry that hung opposite their room. Obviously bored, he then glanced up guiltily at them. Brienne frowned. She was sure that the wall-hanging had never depicted the woman wearing a scar and a beard.

Leveling a heavy sigh at him, she indicated for the page to lead the way. Quickly he did so, and they made their way towards the underground sanctuary. 

Going down the stairs, they noticed that Winterfell was filled with visitors, and the noise was near deafening. Thankfully, they did not need to talk, or Brienne imagined they would have to yell to be heard.

In one of the larger chambers, she heard the distinctive celebration of the Wildings. Having been granted status as Free Folk, they were partying hard enough that bits of dust would flitter down from the nearby ceiling now and then. The Northern Lords made sure to stay clear of this ongoing party, and when they passed the merriment, grimaced at the effrontery.

Crossing through the main hall, Brienne inhaled as she took in all the bright decorations and the various House banners that were strung up for tomorrow night’s welcoming party and then later for the coronation to swear Sansa officially in. It reminded Brienne that once they went home to Casterly Rock, they, too, would have to endure the pomp and circumstance of being sworn in.

The page led them deep into the underground of the Keep and Brienne was pleased to escape the loud din. The area below seemed old and disused, and she felt as if they were going back in time, to a long-ago age. Her nose crinkled in the musty air and she wondered when the last time this tunnel had been used was.

As they traversed deeper through the rough-hewn walls of the corridor, they heard a man arguing with someone up ahead. Brienne frowned, for the voice sounded familiar.  
Rounding the corner, they saw Lord Rodrik Ryswell quarreling with two imposing Wilding sentries that stood guard in front of a large closed door. The sentries ignored the fuming man, whose voice was getting shriller as time went on. His conduct reminded her of a frustrated little dog, yipping to be seen.

“I demand entrance! I know that Lady Sansa is in there, so let me pass. I refuse to be put off any longer.” 

The bored guards suddenly stood straight when Jaime and Brienne were led up to them. Lord Ryswell’s protests petered out when he recognized them. He sneered at Jamie and focused on the giantess next to him. His gaze grew perplexed as if he were trying to remember where he had seen her before. 

Brienne supposed it was only natural that he did not recall her. She had been disguised as a sellsword for Sansa when they had met all that time ago with the Northern Lords as they attempted to garner their support.

“What seems to be the problem?” Jaime asked.

Though Jaime was addressing the Wildings, Rodrik took it upon himself to answer, “I heard you were around, Kingslayer. Though why they would allow such a dishonorable man here is beyond me.” 

Brienne tensed at the insult, and her hand grazed the pommel of Oathkeeper. The man’s eyes widened for that gesture; the large sword was rather memorable.   
Licking his lips, Rodrik appeared chastised. “I mean, Lord Lannister.”

Smirking, Jaime indicated Brienne, but his studied gaze never left Rodrik’s cautious features, “You’ve already met my wife, though not formally. May I present to you the Lady Brienne Tarth of Casterly Rock.” 

The man gaped at her, and Brienne had the urge to reach over and shut his trap.

Jaime continued, “So, why are you bullying these men?

“I—I demand an audience with Lady Sansa.”

“That is Warden Stark to you,” Brienne growled out.

The petulant man nearly corrected her, but then thought better of it. As he schooled his stern features, Brienne realized that he had just stopped himself from saying something patronizing. Her Septa from her childhood often wore that same pinched expression before she corrected little Brienne on something trifling, usually concerning etiquette. All the more, she did not like this odious man.

Brienne heard a long -suffering sigh from the smaller of the two Wilding guards in front of them. She had a feeling that Lord Ryswell had already tried such condescension on them, without much success.

The larger of the Wilding’s shifted his stance and stood closer to them. His baritone voice sounded bored, “We have already told him that he can see the Warden at tomorrow night’s welcoming party like all the other guests.” He side-eyed the lord, then his gaze flicked to the Lannister’s, his eyes alighting mischievously, “But you two can go right in.” 

Ignoring Ryswell’s indignant yip, the Wilding opened the door for the Lannister’s, “She is expecting you.” 

Brienne heard the respect in his voice and she wondered if they had been the ones who had gone back to dispose of the Ramsay’s and Wull’s bodies. There seemed to be quite a titter around the Keep for Brienne’s role in saving Sansa in the forest. 

Even the rumor of her killing Stannis was making the rounds, and most Wildings viewed her with an appreciative leer. Hopefully, her deadly reputation would keep them from trying that ridiculous notion of stealing her away to be their bride. Jaime warned her that it just made her more desirable to them and insisted he stay close to her from now on. 

As the Lannisters pushed past him, Rodrik sputtered in outrage. He was beside himself with anger.

“Till tomorrow night’s party, my Lord.” Jaime mockingly bowed, and he and Brienne entered the underground chambers.

“Yes, better luck next time.” Brienne smirked. The last thing she saw was Ryswell turning beet red before the door was shut in his face. His loud vocal indignation was muffled by the thick door.

They chuckled to one another but suddenly stopped when they moved further into the old chambers. Around a large circular table sat Lord Baelish, the usual arrogant smile plastered on his insufferable features. They were also surprised to see that Tyrion and Jon were seated at the round table as well. 

She had a feeling that something big was going to go down and wished she knew why they had been kept in the dark about Sansa’s plans. A hesitant glance passed between her and Jaime, but resigned, they approached the seated group.


	26. Honor

To quell the dread that welled up inside her, Brienne forced herself to focus on other things. 

Taking in her surroundings, she realized that the table they sat around was large enough to sit eight. Brienne recalled reading that some claimed that there was an old table in Winterfell that had once been used to reconvene the eight kingdoms. The surrounding tapestries that adorned the walls were old and dusty, some already frayed along the edges. Each depicted some representation of the Old Gods and Brienne understood where such assertions of the table’s origin came from.

Though the multitude of candles illuminated the small room, many shadows still permeated throughout and Brienne tamped down a shiver that made the short hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She sensed that something was off, but she could not tell what. No one would look her in the eye, except for Littlefinger, who stroked his chin in contemplation.

Brienne briefly wondered where Podrick was but figured it was a good idea that he was nowhere near Baelish’s watchful gaze.

She noticed that Lady Sansa was setting out teacups to their specific place settings, each one of a different pattern or design. It seemed she took great care with them and Brienne figured they must have been in the family for a long time.

Seeing the Lannisters uncomfortably standing by the door, Sansa indicated the two empty chairs next to her seat. As they sat, Brienne took in Jon’s hollow gaze aimed their way and that Tyrion studied them intently.

Glancing about the table, Brienne saw that lemon cakes and other delicate pastries were plated at the center of the table. Her stomach rumbled, but the feeling of dread prevented her from looking forward to eating such treats. 

Finished with her work, Sansa ushered the servants to leave, “You may go.” Before the servants could vocally protest, Sansa amended, “I will serve.”

The servants glanced at one another—this was most unheard of, but by Sansa’s stern expression, they had best do as she commanded. When the door opened, Rodrik’s outraged voice was heard calling for the Warden, and Sansa frowned, adding, “And have the guards do something about that noise.” Without another glance, the servants nodded and quickly exited the room.

Sansa began to serve everyone tea, and the pleasant floral fragrance seemed to beat back some of the darkness that Brienne felt. 

Jaime exchanged a glance with Tyrion, who shrugged. There was something about Tyrion’s demeanor that gave him pause, but his brother would no longer meet his gaze.  
The muffled yells from Rodrik suddenly ceased, and Brienne glanced at the shut door. Sansa did not say a word and continued to pour the hot beverage. She seemed to take more time filling Littlefinger’s cup. Baelish glanced up at her, and it was not difficult to make out the adoration in his eyes.

Frowning, Brienne cleared her throat and began to tell Sansa, “I am concerned with the Northern Lords, my lady. They seem—”

Sansa interrupted her by stating curtly, “Another time, Lady Brienne. Something else must be dealt with first.”

Brienne appeared crestfallen. Ever since the dog attack, Sansa had not sought her counsel, instead relying on Littlefinger and her husband for advice. Brienne knew she shouldn’t take offense, but a part of her could not help but feel as if she had somehow let the young Warden down. Brienne wondered if Sansa was about to formally dismiss her service as her sworn sword and she ducked her head down to school her distressed features.

Hearing a slight noise, Brienne glanced up and saw that Littlefinger was practically shaking with mirth that Sansa had censured her. Her grip on the teacup’s handle was so fierce that it cracked. The sound made her quickly relax her grip. She could barely put it down without smashing it onto the table’s surface. Baelish only grinned wider, and she felt Jaime twitch beside her as if he wanted to slap the man’s arrogant face himself.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Brienne moved uncomfortably in her seat while Jon wiped his brow. Tyrion squinted at Baelish, lost in thought, and Jaime watched Sansa as she placed the empty teapot onto the side table nearest her seat.

Only Lord Baelish sat without a care. He was too pleased with himself to let the mood permeate his ego. Even though he was surrounded by his enemies, he was secure in his place next to a Tully woman again. 

Still, he fingered the dagger at his belt self-consciously. He reminded himself that Sansa was a Stark first and a Lannister next—her eyes were Tully blue but her heart was all wolf. 

Lady Sansa sat down and took the plate of lemon cakes. After taking two, she passed it to Brienne. The giantess took one out of courtesy but did not eat it. Jaime took two and moved them around his plate. Tyrion took three and quickly stuffed one in his mouth, as if fearing he might blurt something out if he did not.

Jon and Baelish declined the offering, and the only thing that broke the quiet was Tyrion gulping hot tea to help wash down the dry lemon cakes.

When the silence was near deafening, and Baelish could not stand it any longer, he stated obsequiously to Sansa, “How can I be of help, my lady? You need but only ask, and I will happily do it.”

Sansa looked calmly at him. His smile faltered for a moment at her sharp scrutiny, and then his eyes circled those at the table critically. “I almost feel as if I am about to be judged by my peers,” the Lord of the Vale vented sarcastically.

Sansa’s quiet voice cut off any who would dare try to speak for the Lady of Winterfell, “No my Lord, just those of us who were slighted by you.” 

Lord Baelish raised an eyebrow and sipped his tea. “Hardly, my Lady. I have only done what was best for your family. Your mother meant a lot to me, and I wanted justice to be paid.” He ignored Tyrion’s snort and took another mouthful of tea to prevent himself from chastising the smaller lord.

“Yes,” said Sansa, “I know she was your obsession. You were never happy that she chose my father over you.”

Baelish shrugged, “She had to do what was best for the Tullys. I hold no grievance with her.”

“No? Then you did not manipulate her into starting a war with the Lannisters?” Sansa’s hand shook as she gripped her tea cup. “Your trickery is what led to the downfall of my family.” 

Not liking her allegations, Littlefinger interrupted, “Now, see here, Sansa—”

“She is the Warden of the North,” Tyrion interrupted, “and you will give her that respect.” Baelish stared down at the small man as if he wanted to strangle him. A dark look fleetingly crossed his features, but Baelish smothered it quickly.

Sansa nodded her thanks to Tyrion, which caused Baelish to glower.

With a mocking tone of contrition, Lord Baelish sneered, “Fine, Lady Sansa, please enlighten us—”

Sansa did not wait for him to finish. “Besides destroying my family over some infatuation of yours, you and the Lady Olenna set up my husband and me to take the blame for King Joffrey’s death. You admitted that to me yourself.”

A blasé Baelish only shrugged. 

Sansa ignored the surprised murmurs from Jon and the others in the room—they had not heard the truth of that news yet. “You and she both conspired to get what you wanted. First, by forcing Tyrion to take the Black, you got him out of the way. And then with that poisoned necklace, I was forced to flee to with you to save my life. All so you could get me in your power.” Sansa picked up her tea and took a prim sip; her eyes blazed in triumph. “Well, my Lord, I have the power now, and justice has been served.”

Littlefinger was about to deny her accusations when he felt an unnatural heat beginning to warm his features. He finished off his tea quickly, in hopes that it would help calm him, but it did not work.

Sansa smirked when she saw him tugging his collar. “What Lord Baelish, is your guilt creeping up on you?”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.” He had no idea why the room had grown so hot.

“You also had Dontos Hollard blamed for the murder of Joffrey. And then to cover your duplicity, you had that sweet man murdered so he would not accuse you as the perpetrator.”

Brienne briefly recalled the escapade in the crypts at King’s Landing a few months back. She fleetingly wondered how the Lady Etna of the House of Hollard was doing. 

“Besides having us blamed for the murder of the King, what about all the hell you put them through?” Sansa nodded at Jaime and Brienne. “You manipulated the situation that nearly had Lady Brienne killed.”

Brienne scowled at him. Unspoken were all the denunciations that had nearly ended her life.

Not to exclude Jon, Sansa indicated her sullen half sibling, “Not to mention how cruel you were always to my brother when we were growing up.” 

Jon obviously never liked the man. He frowned at Baelish who was once more tugging at his collar. “You always had a cutting or caustic comment aimed at me.”

Loosening the top buttons on his tight collar also seemed to relax the firm control Baelish had on his tongue. Littlefinger could not help himself when he spat, “You weren’t even Catelyn’s son, only a constant reminder of her husband’s infidelity. Ned Stark did not deserve her. You were proof enough of that.” 

Littlefinger forced himself to take a breath, feeling sweat prickle his brow and back. He would let Sansa play out her courtroom drama over tea, and he would play his role dutifully to get what he wanted. 

So, doing what he always did, he swallowed his pride and smiled obsequiously, “Please my Lady, let me serve you. I was your mother’s silent advisor for years.” 

Brienne was pleased to see that Sansa appeared insulted. She figured that the new Warden would not appreciate any ‘input’ that Littlefinger had. But knowing his manipulative methods well enough, Brienne knew Sansa dared not let him live, or he could turn everyone against her over time. The warrior woman especially did not trust him if he found out that Sansa’s younger brothers were still alive. He would have them killed just to keep her ruling Winterfell and under his thumb.

As if reading Brienne’s mind, Sansa shook her head miserably, “Yes, and looked what good it did for my trusting mother. During these past few days, we,” she nodded to Tyrion, “have exchanged information and have connected quite a few dots. The worst of them being how you set up my mother to fail so you could have her.”

Baelish quickly raised his hands upwards in a defensive posture, “I assure you…” His defense trailed off. Sweat dappled his forehead and he wiped it away with a handkerchief.

No longer able to hold in all the anger that Sansa had accumulated over the past few years, Littlefinger was now on the receiving end of all her frustrations. “You manipulated my mother,” she accused him, her words hot arrows on his skin, “into thinking that Tyrion sent an assassin to finish off my brother Bran to get us into a war with the Lannister’s. That was not my husband’s dagger; it was King Robert’s that Joffrey had stolen from his armory. You knew this and could have told the King the truth and all that could have been stopped, but the only way you can ever win is by keeping everyone at each other’s throats. Then you swoop in and ‘fix’ everything.”

Her blazing gaze burned into his and Baelish swore he felt the heat buffer against him. 

Sansa nodded to Tyrion, continuing her onslaught as if she did not notice Baelish’s discomfort. “And I heard of how you betrayed my own father at King’s Landing. You never could stand that my mother chose him over you. Countless lives have been lost due to your selfish machinations.”

He swabbed his sweating forehead and stammered, “No, it wasn’t like that. I loved your mother—”

“And since she did not return those affections you went to work on destroying my family.” The finality of her voice was so cold, Littlefinger wished he could have bathed in it. He fumbled at the remaining buttons that fastened his surcoat to catch the cool air of the chamber.

Once more, he tried to respond to Sansa’s accusations, but it was difficult to breathe and he began to cough. Quickly he covered his mouth with his handkerchief when the coughing became more violent. Attempting to catch his breath, he recoiled when he saw blood on the silken cloth.

Catching Sansa’s smirk, Baelish frowned as the realization struck him. He managed to gasp, “What did you do to me?” His bloodshot eyes searched out his empty teacup, “What did you put in there?”

Brienne looked at Jaime in concern and then the half-full tea cups they each held. Sansa registered their fear and reassured them, “Do not worry my friends, I would never risk your lives by poisoning the tea. I simply coated the inside of Baelish’s tea cup with the poison instead.”

“You poisoned me!” Baelish rasped his accusation at Sansa, his shaking finger thrust out as if it was a weapon. He suddenly pulled it back and clutched at his stomach in agony as fire engulfed it.

She politely nodded. “After what you have put my family through, it was the least I could do. Actually, there is one more need I would ask of you…” 

Suddenly, Littlefinger raked at his throat, as if the action could eject the poison that now coursed through his body. He lurched to his feet and staggered towards Sansa, his purpling face frozen in the rictus of outrage. He could not believe that Catelyn Tully’s child could be so cruel! 

Being the closest, Tyrion grabbed his last lemon cake and jumped out of his seat. He moved quickly to join his wife who neatly side-stepped Baelish’s teetering advance. 

Wavering as he swung around to face Sansa again, Littlefinger stopped his pursuit and glared at everyone at the table. His look of betrayal was so strong that Brienne momentarily felt guilt over the hatred she had for the man. 

Rolling his eyes toward the ceiling in anguish, Baelish cried out and fell to his hands and knees. Moaning, he dragged himself to Sansa’s feet. He clawed at the hem of her dress, his red-rimmed eyes staring up into her dispassionate face. 

Weakly, he tried to beg for mercy, but Tyrion suddenly stepped up to his side and shoved the pastry into Baelish’s gasping mouth. 

Littlefinger’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the cold floor, unmoving. With one last shuddering breath, Baelish left the world just as he’d come into it—wheezing for life. 

Silence hung heavy in the chamber. Jon stood in one corner, his eyes downcast from guilt. Tyrion wiped his fingers clean on the edge of his shirt. He glanced from the body and then to his wife. Sansa stared at Baelish, a small smile gracing her lips as she nudged his body with the toe of her boot. 

When Baelish stayed motionless, Sansa exhaled and seemed to stand taller. Nodding, she said to no one in particular, “Good, I wanted to take care of a few things before my coronation.”

Brienne stared, horrified at what had happened. Did anyone really deserve to die in such a painful manner, even someone like Lord Baelish? Staring at Sansa, whose rapt focus never left the dead man’s form, Brienne wondered what Lady Catelyn would think of what her daughter had become. Would she approve of this vengeance or disclaim it? Brienne was no longer so sure. 

Brienne felt a shift in the air from an unknown source. The sudden flickering candlelight made the shadows dance ominously on the chamber walls. She stood up in concern. It felt as if a presence was in the room, almost as if a long-dead host had witnessed this judgment. Jaime reached over to take her clammy hand in his. 

She glanced down at him and he mouthed, “Starks.” She stared back at him for a moment before his eyes flicked across the room. 

She followed her husband’s gaze, taking in the sly look Sansa shared with Tyrion. Brienne realized quite suddenly that she and Jaime were the only ones in Sansa’s close circle who did not know her plans. It disheartened Brienne to know that Lady Sansa had not warned them of her machinations, and she worried at the distance that now stretched between them. 

Still, what was done was done, and Brienne would serve Sansa one last time in the only way she knew how to. She rose from her seat, her hand on the pommel of Oathkeeper. She loathed the idea of meeting Baelish in White Walker form should they not take the proper precautions. She moved to Baelish’s still body and began to pull Oathkeeper free so she could chop off his head.

“No,” said Tyrion, approaching.

Brienne shoved her sword back in its sheath and turned to him. “But there is the risk that the Others’ influence could reach even this far underground.”

Tyrion stated cryptically, “Do not fear, Lady Brienne. We know what to do. Besides, Littlefinger is not done serving us, yet. Jon?”

As Jon nodded, Brienne stood back, dejected. Once more she found herself dismissed from her duty to Sansa Stark. Jaime crowded close to her as if to let her know that he would always need her, and she smiled at her husband sadly.

Jon opened the door and, after confirming there were no lingering guests in the passage, signaled the two Wilding guards to enter. He pointed at Littlefinger’s corpse, and they each silently took a leg and dragged it from the room. Jon followed behind them, his expression guarded.

Clearly pleased, Sansa nodded to her husband and indicated the open door, “Come, let us repose to another chamber for a celebratory dinner. This one needs to be aired out.” She smiled at Tyrion, who offered her his arm.

Brienne noticed that Tyrion could not take his eyes off Sansa; a smile quirked on his lips that Brienne recognized as respect. It made her wonder how much his input had influenced the young wolf, or if Sansa had plotted Lord Baelish’s death all on her own.

Without waiting to see if the Lannisters would follow, Sansa left with Tyrion arm-in-arm. Jaime and Brienne exhaled and looked to one another in concern. Brienne hoped they had not made the mistake of uniting the only two people cunning and decisive enough to bring the realm to its knees. 

It was a question only time would tell.

*

Late the next morning, Brienne marched to Sansa’s personal suite. She wanted to talk privately with Sansa before the night’s welcoming party and did not wish anyone to overhear their discussion. Granted, with the way Sansa had been ignoring her these past few days, she did not hold much hope of getting an answer.

Swallowing her feelings of betrayal, Brienne approached the chambers. She coolly took in the two large Wilding males that guarded the Warden’s door. They stood up straighter when she approached, but neither challenged her.

Without waiting for their permission, Brienne rapped soundly on the thick door. She and Jaime had talked last night, and both were concerned by the new Warden’s callous behavior at yesterday’s tea service. It unnerved them that Sansa had planned on poisoning Littlefinger with them as her unwitting audience.

A pleasant “Enter” was called out, and Brienne wondered if she had been expected. What would have happened had she been a Northern Lord? But then, she doubted the guards would have let her anywhere near the doors.

The grumbling from those ignored lords was beginning to grow. The coronation was supposed to occur tomorrow, but she wondered if that was still even possible. Tonight’s welcoming party was going to be a very vocal affair, and Brienne hoped that nothing would go wrong. 

Opening the thick door, Brienne gazed about the well-lit room that had once been Lady Catelyn’s private chambers. The large wood-framed bed took up most of the room.   
Dust and cobwebs indicated that it had not been used in a long time. Instead, it appeared as if Sansa had been sleeping on the small divan at the foot of the bed. Brienne wanted to ask Sansa why she did not use her parent’s bed, but there were more pressing matters to discuss. 

“Lady Brienne.” Sansa’s cordial voice cut through Brienne’s thoughts, and she turned to address the younger woman. The heavy curtains had been drawn back from the windows, and she spotted the Warden sitting in front of a large vanity, no doubt it had been her mothers. 

Sansa sat regally in front of the bureau’s mirror while a maid dutifully combed her sleek auburn locks. Brienne wondered if such fabulous hair was passed down to all the Stark children and self-consciously patted down her disheveled short blonde hair.

Sansa grinned at her from the reflection and Brienne had the urge to glower. The younger woman seemed lighter than air, smiling more than she had since she had first walked through those tall gates and back into her home.

Brienne’s gaze flicked to the maid, and she hoped that Sansa would take the hint and excuse her servant. But Sansa seemed oblivious to her signals. Sighing, Brienne realized she would have to talk in code. It had been years since the last time she had done so in front of the servants, and her father had hidden his smirk at her floundering then.  
“My lady, I have need to speak with you about yesterday’s—situation. In the underground chambers—” 

Drat, it did not seem as if she had gotten any better at it.

Sansa loudly sighed, “Yes, yes.” The young woman waved off Brienne’s veiled words and glanced up at the maid who seemed very intent at not appearing to be eavesdropping. Sansa calmly took the brush from the maid and said dismissively, “Thank you, Alice. That is all.”

The maid shuffled her gaze from her Warden to Brienne and curtseyed, “Yes, my Lady.” 

Once the door shut, Brienne took a breath to speak, but Sansa spoke first, “Yesterday was most liberating. Frankly, I think my family had wanted an excuse to get rid of that meddler for years now.” She glanced around the room with a pleased expression and said, “The air even seems so much lighter, don’t you think, Brienne?”

Brienne, too, was thankful that that horrid man was dead, but still, she was concerned. “My Lady, is it wise for you to have your hand directly involved in his death? Though he was not well liked, he still had allies.”

Sansa’s laugh sounded overly bright, and Brienne wondered if maybe her murderous actions had affected her more than she let on. “So far, the two men I have killed deserved it; no one will seek retribution. I might actually be considered a hero for doing it.” She studied Brienne in the mirror, “And if you fear I feel any guilt over my choices, you are vastly mistaken.”

Deciding not to press Sansa more about her cavalier attitude toward killing someone, Brienne instead stated, “You could have told me about your plans for Littlefinger. I could have helped.”

Sansa once more stared at her from the mirror and replied curtly, “Unlike me, Brienne, you are not very good at subterfuge. If we had told you, you certainly would have given it away. Besides, your code of honor would never have allowed it.” 

Sansa’s eyes darted from Brienne’s wounded expression back to her own reflection. “Don’t be upset; your naiveté is one of your most endearing qualities, Brienne. But in this situation, your honor would have ruined everything.” 

Brienne glanced away and then stared back at the Warden. She had no idea why Sansa had become unkind to her. Ever since she had saved her from the dog attack, Sansa had ignored her counsel, seeking it out elsewhere. And this cruelty now aimed her way was something new as well. 

She then noticed that Sansa kept glancing down at Brienne’s covered stomach. The warrior woman caught the trepidation that passed the Warden’s young features, and the pieces began to come together. It was after she had found out Brienne was pregnant that Sansa’s attitude towards her had changed. Tired of the games, Brienne demanded, “What is really going on between us?”

Sighing, Sansa stopped brushing her hair. “Brienne, when we first met, I was worried for you because of the company you kept. Though you have been through a lot, you are still very inexperienced when it comes to the realities of life. You have always romanticized redemption, putting too much trust in your heart when it comes to Lord Jaime.” She saw Brienne bristle at the comment and said quickly, “It is true, and now you are tied permanently to the Lannisters by having that man’s child. There is no escape for you now; Lord Tywin will never let you go, not when you carry the heir to the family name.” 

Grinding her teeth, Brienne forced herself to calm down. She was tempted to point out that she had gone toe to toe with Lord Tywin and made it out alright. She had relied on her image of integrity for so long, that most continued to ignore that she had survived on more than just her skill with a blade.

True, it was hard for an honorable person to be associated with a family that was not. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Brienne realized that it might not be as easy to exonerate the Lannister name as she first hoped. 

Some prejudices ran deep, and the Lannister’s had hurt Sansa and her family badly, even to the point of nearly wiping them all out. In some ways, it was too bad that Brienne was now lumped in with the whole nefarious lot of them. She hoped her code of honor would still be beneficial in the long run.

Seeing the obvious war occurring behind Brienne’s eyes, Sansa nodded, “That family is evil and conniving, and certainly not deserving of you.”

Vehemently, Brienne defended her husband, “Jaime is not like the rest of them.”

“The Kingslayer?” Recognizing the stubborn posture of her friend, Sansa shrugged, “Perhaps, but what of his father, the Hand? He will always be trying to position the Lannisters into power, not caring whom he hurts for it. I fear for you and your unborn child. You could have done so much better than marrying a Lannister, Brienne.” 

Brienne frowned, “But you are married to a Lannister.”

Sansa easily replied, “Not by my choice, but I made the best of it. Besides, Tyrion is shunned by his family. He is now considered less of a Lannister than you are.”

There may have been some truth to Sansa’s words, but there was no fairness to what she said. Brienne knew she could make things right for her new family. Alas, she had a feeling it would not matter to Sansa, and she felt a sharp stab of pain at the disappointment in that knowledge.

Judging Brienne’s silence, a contrite Sansa took a deep breath and continued, “Do not get me wrong, I am very grateful for all your sacrifice and help in restoring my family to power. I will never forget what you have done for me.”

Brienne bit out, “I could not have done it without Jaime’s help.” Her husband had sacrificed much as well. She thought of how she had almost lost him at the beginning of this adventure and blanched.

“Yes, and I am most grateful for his help, too,” Sansa allowed. “It almost makes amends for what he did to Bran. But,” she insisted obstinately, “I am sure it is only a matter of time before he reverts to his true Lannister colors.” She turned back to the mirror and resumed brushing her hair. Now the strokes of the brush were harsh.

Indignant, Brienne stood up straighter. “It is too bad you cannot see past your prejudices, my lady. You are smart to be wary of his father, but I assure you that Jaime has changed.”

A sullen Sansa refused to meet Brienne’s gaze, so the warrior woman continued, “I had hoped that during your journey to becoming Warden, you would accept him as an ally. Too bad your insight and diplomacy skills did not improve to be on par with your mother’s. She would have known never to seek out an enemy that does not exist.” 

Sansa’s reflected gaze sharpened, and she coolly glared at her, “You may have served her for a time, Lady Brienne, but you knew nothing of my mother. Thank you for your service, but I free you of your oath to my family.” 

Brienne felt the pain of Sansa’s betrayal take solid shape, like a pike driven through her center. She tried not to let her expression show her hurt, but her chin quivered, and she hated herself for it. 

Taking in Brienne’s hurt gaze, Sansa tried to lessen the forcefulness in her words. “You have done much for the Starks, and I know that my mother would be appreciative of how you have helped my family and me. But I no longer have the need for your services. Or your husband’s.”

Brienne steeled her features. “As you wish, my lady.” She had hoped that she and Sansa could remain friends, but the Warden was a changed woman, and Brienne did not know how to befriend this version of Sansa now. 

“When it is time for my husband and me to leave,” said Brienne, “I think that it would be best if Podrick came with us.”

Sansa stopped her angry brushing and glared at her own expression in the mirror. Brienne was grateful she had not been drinking any tea for fear of what blend it might have been.

The Warden’s hand clenched the brush handle so hard her knuckles were as white as the snow outside her window. “I understand,” Sansa whispered, “but I had hoped it could wait until—”

Brienne shook her head. “Being here would be too much of a temptation to you both,” she replied bluntly, no longer afraid of offending her lady. “The Northern lords are already talking. There’s no reason to give them another excuse to unseat you.”

Sansa squinted her eyes in anger at Brienne but smartly did not counter her words. She nodded curtly, “Understood. You are dismissed, Lady Brienne.”

After she had straightened from a slight bow, Brienne said, “Until tonight, my Lady.”

A fuming Sansa bobbed her head quickly.

Exhaling loudly, Brienne spun on her heel and left the room. 

Ignoring the curious glances from the Wilding guards, Brienne began to hurry down the corridor. Worried that others might see her shimmering eyes, she wanted to get away as fast as possible. As she hurried back to her chambers, she wondered when they could escape home. What Sansa had said to her, had hurt deep under her skin.

It saddened Brienne that Sansa had changed in such a way. It was too bad that life experience and the need for power had changed the girl who once played with dolls and dreamed of being rescued by knights. She tried to remember that Sansa was still young, but it was proving difficult to accept.

Though she was relieved that Sansa could take care of herself, she questioned if there might be problems in the future due to the young woman’s impulsiveness. Thankfully Tyrion seemed capable of keeping Sansa grounded or at least placed in the best position to influence her. Hopefully, he would do better than Littlefinger had in that same station.

Regardless of how it rankled her of what Sansa said, the young Warden was right about one thing, Brienne was now a Lannister, and there was no turning back. But she knew she could make it work. She would embrace her new heritage and combine it with the best attributes of her old one. Unfortunately, it seemed that she would now have the added burden of prejudice to contend with.

She smirked to herself when she remembered that this was not a new battle for her. She had been fighting to justify her life choices since she had first shown an interest in swords as a little girl. She had tried to be what her father wanted but soon realized that she would have to go against the grain of respectability and what was expected of her if she was to follow her heart. This would be no different. 

Brienne imagined that the Lannister name would once more weigh her down, but not for long. Her husband did not often grouse about his stubborn wench for nothing.  
Besides, soon she would have her own vast keep to co-rule, and the good they could do there would help mend the family name. Maybe she had learned a few new things from this adventure, after all. 

Still, it hurt to have lost Sansa’s friendship. Swallowing her sorrow over this loss, Brienne’s steps faltered momentarily. Then, with a resounding sigh that echoed back to her through the empty corridor, she resolved to prove to Sansa and everyone else that honor could be restored to the Lannister name, and she would be the one to do it.   
With stubborn determination, she marched on.


	27. Release

Jaime glanced up from polishing Widows Wail when Brienne wandered into their chamber; her mind obviously leagues away. Jaime shoved the sharp blade back into its scabbard and leaned it against the bedframe. The familiar sound of steel against leather snapped her out of her thoughts. He could tell by her half-startled expression that something had gone wrong with her visit. 

“So, how did it go?” he asked with forced geniality.

Brienne sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and looked at him. “She stated I had too much honor and would have given her intentions away.” She sighed and ran a hand through her unruly hair. “She believed that Littlefinger would have seen right through me and ruined all her plans.”

Jaime just watched her with a concerned expression, and she turned away from his scrutiny. 

Before he could pry more out of her, she rose and paced about the room. The discussion appeared to be over. He heard the hurt in her voice, but he could also tell that she was holding something back. Now her stubborn chin stuck out like a clenched fist.

He frowned at what could have caused her to conceal her feelings from him, her most-trusted friend. 

When her pacing grew to heavy stomping and she paused to slam a cabinet shut, he understood that Brienne needed to vent, and soon—keeping it bottled up was never healthy.

Knowing sometimes the best way to get an answer from her was to be direct, he stood and sauntered up behind her. Before she could retreat, he had his arms wrapped around her, and he kissed the back of her neck.

Stiffening, she then relaxed and turned in his arms. 

He asked, “Can you tell me what is wrong?” 

Her eyes shifted to the side, and he reasoned she was wondering if she should lie to him. He continued so she would not soil her honor, “Clearly Lady Sansa said something else to upset you.”

“Yes,” Brienne said bitterly. She refused to look him in the eye. It dawned on him that the only reason she would be so closed-lipped, even willing to lie, meant that it must have to do with him and she did not want to hurt his feelings. 

“She doesn’t trust your honor, or is it mine?” His words were confirmed when she tried to pull away from him, but he tightened his hold on her so she could not escape. 

“These past months, I had been hoping I had changed her mind,” she sighed. 

He rested his stump against her hip and saw the hurt reflected in her eyes. Jaime was tired of the never-ending distrust, and he, too, had hoped that the world might eventually forgive him for his past transgressions. He could not help the sneer in his tone when he said, “She is a young woman—nay, a child—who cares what she thinks, Brienne?”

He saw the pain of betrayal in her sad gaze, and Jaime wondered if she would ever find someone outside of their relationship that she could talk to besides himself. There were some walls he would never be able to fully breach. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

She quickly shook her head, “Not now, Jaime.”

Since she didn’t want to express it verbally, Jaime thought that maybe she could work out her frustrations in a more productive way. 

“You’re right,” he told her, “enough talking. What say we crawl into bed and revel in our dishonor with some angry sex?” 

Surprisingly, Brienne did not blush as he expected. Instead, her cool blue eyes gauged him calculatingly. Loudly exhaling, she curtly replied, “That is not the sword I want now, husband.” Instead her gaze rested on the sheathed blade of Widows Wail that was leaning against the bed.

Jaime smiled, glad she had taken the bait, and waved his arm toward the door as he bowed. “As the lady requests.” 

*

Jaime reluctantly followed Brienne down the corridor, and she hid her grin. He exasperated her so much sometimes, but he always meant well. And he had taken her mind off Sansa’s betrayal or at least made her want to focus on other things. Like beating him at swordplay. 

They headed down the stairs and Brienne was surprised at the quietness of the Keep. All the decorations were up, and the servants were now busy elsewhere with last minute adornments and preparing the feast for tonight’s party, she reasoned. 

The Wildings’ and clans’ celebratory bash at having joined under one leadership had finally ceased. Brienne did not doubt they were all passed out from their drunken revelry. That just left the other visitors.

As for the Northern Lords, most were probably still in their chambers, either sleeping in or conspiring with other nobility. They passed a few who were tucked in nearby alcoves; their hushed whispers ceased when they saw the Lannisters strolling by on the way to the practice field.

When Jaime and Brienne exited the Keep and marched to the sparing area, she was not surprised that the grounds were near empty as well. A light snow had begun to fall, which made footing dangerous since the slush was now frozen. It did not stop some Wildings and clansmen from honing their skills in one corner of the field, though. The sound of wooden practice weapons reminded her of the noise that rain made on an old roof.

Jaime stamped his feet on the slick work area with trepidation, “Are you sure, wife? You might pull something that was best left in place.” He glanced down at her belly.  
Brienne grimaced at the reference to their babe. It reminded her too much of what Sansa had said to her earlier. 

“If this child hasn’t made an appearance after all we have been through, I doubt it will at a bit of sparring,” she forced herself to say pleasantly. “But I promise to take it easy on you, husband.”

Besides, she was not going to let her pregnancy change her lifestyle; she would just adapt to it, they would all have to. Brienne vowed that she would spar well into her pregnancy. Grinning to herself, she would not be surprised if she went into labor with Oathkeeper in hand!

Off to the side, she heard louder grunts from the Wildings. Their exaggerated noises almost sounded sexual, and she scowled when she realized they were doing this for her benefit. Her frown of disapproval only seemed to spur them on all the more. She frankly did not know why they continued to try to ‘win’ her over. Obviously her heart belonged to another.

She noticed that most of the excessive sounds came from the red-headed giant Wilding by the name of Tormund. He must have felt her gaze because he turned and flashed a wide grin of white teeth at her. From what she had heard, she was surprised he still had so many left, and she glared at him. He only grinned wider.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she began her stretching exercises, which Jaime also emulated, but not as enthusiastically. After her muscles had been stretched and flexed to the point of being loose, she pulled Oathkeeper free from her sheath. Neither of them had their wooden practice swords anymore, which was just as well.

Grasping it firmly in her right hand, the sword felt good. It had been days since she’d held it last, but once more it felt like an extension of her arm. After a deep breath and exhale, she began to do her routine drills, her body automatically following the repetition that had been trained into her for years. Oathkeeper hummed in the chilled air, the sound music to her ears. 

Brienne was amazed at how this sword seemed to accommodate her injured wrist with its perfect balance. Every swing was strong, and there was only a slight pull to the healing bite scar with each twist of her wrist. Gods, Oathkeeper felt so right in her grasp, and it sang as she expertly swung it about. She could not wait to replace the boring plain pommel with the one it had been born with.

Determined, she silently vowed that she would proudly carry the lion’s head of her husband’s ancestry. No one was going to make her feel bad about her new family. 

After another lunge, Brienne could not get over how good it was to be using her mind and body as it was meant to be. She was tired of sitting and sleeping. She was a woman of action, pregnant or not, and if the maester at Casterly Rock tried to force her to be inactive, she would dangle him from the highest parapet.

Her breath was just slightly elevated from the exertion, and Brienne reflected that her husband was right, this was just what she needed to express her frustrations. The low hanging sun briefly glinted over her sharp ornate blade, and once more she was captivated by its beauty.

“Are you just going to admire it all day, or are you going to use it?” Jaime asked while grinning.

She replied by showing a feral grin with teeth and Jaime nodded back, no longer in a joking mood. 

Since they had both been sedentary for nearly a week, they took it slow at first. As they sparred, a crowd of clansmen and Wildings began to grow around them. The Wildings chose her, with Tormund her most vocal supporter. Celyne yelled for Jaime to beat Brienne down and promises were betted between the Free Folk and Clansmen. Neither groups ever dealt with coin, only a person’s word was worth anything this far North. Though large ‘wagers’ were made, neither Lannisters noticed this, each too busy trying to conquer the other in the dance of battle.

Jaime fought hard, for even though Brienne was pregnant, he knew she would not want him to hold back. It just meant that he did not strike her in a certain area, that was if he was even able to get near her.

She was taking charge of the session, dictating the flow of the fight, and she was fierce. Jaime was barely able to keep up. It seemed that the egging on by their audience also played into her ferocious attacks. The Wildings ate it up, and bigger assurances were exchanged between the clansmen and Free Folk.

While they fought, Brienne reveled in the strength she felt with Oathkeeper in her grasp. It was so well attuned to her moves; she almost believed it had been specially made for her. And, in a way, it had been, for it was Jaime’s special gift to her. Only he would give her armor and a wonderful sword, and it made her heart warm that he knew her so well.

After effortlessly blocking another hit, she reflected on the weapon’s origin. Not so long ago, it had been part of a large sword that belonged to Ned Stark that Lord Tywin had melted down into two. It was only right that Jaime had given it to her to seek out and protect the Stark children. At the beginning of this journey, she had thought to give it back to the Starks once her oath was finished. She had planned to ask Jaime to do the same with Widow’s Wail, so the original Stark sword would be ‘complete’ and home.

But the more she thought about it, she realized that the blade not only symbolized her promise to help the Starks but of Jaime’s devotion and trust in her. She knew now that it represented the silent love and caring that they shared for one another, for at the time of presenting it to her, he could not admit his feelings to her nor she to him. A vow that neither could admit to the other, then. No, she could never give that up; it would be as if she was getting rid of a part of what made them whole.

Oathkeeper was hers, and it would stay with her. With that acceptance, she shouted a battle cry and charged at her husband, Oathkeeper held high.

*

They continued fighting for a while until they were tired and spent. Both ceased and declared a quiet détente. The crowd saw they were done and began to grumble to one another. There was no obvious winner, and the observers disbursed to go back to their own practicing.

Only Tormund stayed, and he began to walk towards them, his gaze lingering on Brienne’s sweaty body.

“So, are we done?” Jaime asked between pants and squinted at the approaching Wilding, his hand once more clenching the pommel of his sword. 

Brienne saw where his gaze was aimed and shook her head. “We have only just started, husband.”

Before he could groan his surrender, she grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the Keep, leaving the sullen Wilding giant behind.

Jaime at first protested her actions, his limbs a single massive ache, but then he recognized the gleam in her eyes. His surprised reaction turned energetic: “Oh…OH!” when he realized what she alluded to. With a grin, he suddenly found the burst of speed to keep up with her, his pain long forgotten. 

They crashed through the heavy front doors of the Keep, grateful for the abandoned halls and silent corridors. Jaime grabbed her tunic and pulled her close to whisper in her ear, “But I am afraid you will have to do most of the work. Do you have the energy to ride me?” 

Taking in his sore and exhausted body, she cheekily glanced down at his crotch, “Only like the stallion that you are.”

*

Sure enough, sometime later, he lay panting in bed, nearly comatose from the hard ride his insatiable wife had just given him. Brienne rolled off, and he grunted when her legs brushed against a vicious bruise he had received from their earlier, spirited sparring session.

Dreamily, he turned to her, but now she would not look him in the eyes. It seemed that even after all that, she still would not divulge whatever else was bothering her. “Come now, wench. You beat me on the ground and ravished me in bed, you can tell me anything and I could not be upset. Hell, I am too exhausted to move!”

She suddenly rested her arm over her face and winched when she touched her bloody lip. That hit had been an accident from their sparing. Brienne had bent over to help Jaime up from the cold ground, but he had quickly scrambled to his feet, his hard head crashing into her mouth.

Jaime reached over and pulled her arm away to gaze into her shimmering blue eyes, “Oh Brienne, please tell me what is making you so sad?”

She did not know if it was due to the pregnancy or of the journey’s emotional toll and disappointing end, but she sagged and said meekly, “I need to tell you something.”

Now fully awake, her earnest tone had him propping himself on his right elbow, his hand reaching out to grab hers. “What is it? Is it the baby? Did I hurt you?”

Ashamed, she blurted out what she had promised his father. “I am sorry I never told you this, but before we got married, your father and I had made a deal. A vow if you will.”

Horrible images assailed him, and he feared that maybe this deal was to give his father their first born. That would be something awful that his father would do. “What did he want? Tell me, Brienne.” His voice held a hint of panic to it.

More embarrassed than worried, she said, “Your father is very concerned with how the family name is perceived, and he wished me to correct it. Sansa’s talk reminded me of the difficulty ahead.” 

He snorted when his mind instantly shuffled through the various family insults; Kingslayer, Imp, adultery, the Rains of Cashmere. The Lannister name was so tarnished he was surprised that they did not leave a trail of slime in their wake. “And he somehow thinks that you can perform miracles now?”

Slightly insulted she bit out, “I have achieved more with less.” 

“I am sure, wife. But you are not as pure to others as you think you are.” He quickly amended before she kicked him out of bed, “What I mean is, I know you are honorable and just, but to some, your reputation is as tarnished as ours. There are still people who believe you killed Renly.” She glared at him, “Must I remind you of that song we recently heard, Brienne the Blue?”

Now she crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive gesture. “Then I will just have to win them over as well. I speak through deeds and actions, which I find truer than any practiced words.” She was obviously alluding to his family.

“True, and what we have accomplished up here should help the family name as well.” An idea formed at how he could use this situation to get his father to back off should Tywin come after them once their deeper involvement up North became known. He fell back onto his pillow, his hand still grasping hers. She did not return his squeeze, so he knew he had slighted her, “Regardless, I was not insulting you. I am just saying that it will be a nearly impossible oath to fulfill, especially because of how poorly my family is viewed by so many.”

Finally, she returned his squeeze back. Turning his head, he saw that her stubborn chin had lessened in its resolve. He exhaled in relief, he had no wish to upset her with the truth, but she needed to accept the reality that his family was much despised, and with good reason.

It seemed it was now beginning to dawn on her how difficult this task was going to be, for a tear fell from her eyes, and he heard her hurtful exhale, “Regardless of what Sansa said, I know I can fix this.” 

Smiling apologetically, he raised her chin with his stump and looked deep into her stoic features. He knew she was trying to hold back more tears of frustration. Rubbing her cheek, he assured her, “It was unfair of my father to task you with such a burden. I understand why you did not want to tell me about his demands at the time, but I wish you had.” 

Jaime sighed and tugged her close into a hug. Whispering in her ear, he said, “I gave my word when we married that we would be in this together, good and bad, and I meant it. This onus of clearing the family name should not rest solely on you. We now share the same name, and I remind you that.” He tiredly sighed, “Why do you always feel you have to do things on your own?” 

“Because I am the only one I have ever had to rely on.” He heard the sorrow in her soft words and pulled back so to stare into her eyes.

“Love, you will never be alone, ever again. We do this together that I promise you.” He lightly kissed each of her cheeks and then her forehead.

She nodded crisply and fell back into his embrace, and they cuddled close. Still leaning on one another, they now stared at the ceiling in contemplation.

Jaime thought of how long he had attempted to rid himself of that snide moniker, “Kingslayer.” He had finally given up after so many years. Those accusatory words hurt to the point that he no longer carried about knightly honor and duty.

He had been so numbed by the ridicule that he never once thought of attempting to clear the family name. But maybe between the two of them, together, he could finally be redeemed. To have someone so in your corner was a liberating feeling and he reveled in her love and understanding. Hell, maybe there was still hope for his family after all.

Brienne’s strict belief in honor reminded him of all the troubles she had been through to be the wonderful person she was now. Maybe that was what he needed to believe in, that he was good enough to rise above the derision through his deeds and actions alone. He knew at one time he had been honorable, and now would be more so with her by his side.

As he lazily rubbed her arm, something dawned on him, “Don’t tell me that your pledge to my father was the reason you have been so reckless on this trip?” 

“My honor ties into this journey in many ways, Jaime,” she replied sagely, and then she sounded insulted. “And I did not intentionally seek danger.”

He heard her exhale loudly and he grinned at the irritated sound she made over his biting humor, his poor suffering wench. Now that the heavy stuff was behind them, he thought it was safe to tease her, plus Oathkeeper was out of reach.

“Ah,” he raised up both their clasped hands and began to count off his points, “let’s see. You wanted to face the Brave Companions unarmed—“

“Which we ended up doing anyway.” Hearing the mirth in his voice, she smiled and rolled on top of him. 

He grunted as she shifted to a more comfortable position and he felt himself stir below. He would not be deterred from his reasons though. “Confront Stannis and his whole standing army. And kill him and that witch of his.”

“They killed my King.” She said, and reached to find him beginning to harden. Her ministrations helped him along until he was ready.

“You wanted to take on both Bolton’s.” He then moaned when she opened her legs just enough that he easily slipped inside her. She began to move back and forth, her momentum increasing with every lunge.

“And now they are buried, while we are alive.” She sounded smug and then gasped when he reached down to rub her nub. 

The movement of his hand made her move faster on top of him, and he panted, “Are you so sure about that last one, wife? You are killing me, woman.”

She snorted a laugh but became gentler in her motions. “Regardless, they were honorable actions in their own way.”

With difficulty, he stopped her movement on top of him. When she frowned, he said, “And all were based on the need for revenge. Don’t get me wrong, Brienne, I happily joined you in all of this. Just don’t make the mistake of mixing honor and revenge. You can lose yourself in that, and it is a spiral I do not want you to experience.” He exhaled when she began thrusting again, making sure to angle in a most exquisite way. He was so close, and he could tell she was nearing too as she tightened around him. “We have been very lucky.”

He lightly pinched her just as he came and they went over the edge together with a single, resounding cry. This time she collapsed on top of him, unmoving. After a breath or two, she propped herself up to look at him. He could barely open his eyes to gaze into her earnest, sweaty features.

“It is not just luck, Jaime. We make a great team, and I think we have done rather well for ourselves. Not only do I know we can make things right for your family, but we will make things better for the citizens at Casterly Rock too. We can make a difference.” 

He nodded, barely able to talk, and he had to swallow twice before he could say, “I do not know if your honor is strong enough to clear our name, but maybe between the two of us, we will succeed.”

Jaime could not help but hug her tightly. 

Nodding, she vowed, “With us working together, I know we can accomplish anything.”

She then began to kiss his face and lick his throat working her way down, her hands once again busy. He did not know where she found the energy. He felt he should at least put up some protest. “Wife, we should be getting ready for the welcoming party.”

Brienne looked up from his torso, and Jaime saw the mischievous gleam in her eyes, “Not just yet, I still have some frustrations I wish to express before then, husband.”

He groaned when her lips reached his slack member, and her tongue began to caress it. He felt it twitch awake and he lamented, “You will be the death of me, wife.” He grinned wolfishly as she began to work her magic, “But what a way to go!”

He let his head fall back dramatically at the vibration from her laugh, his eyes squeezed tightly closed in ecstasy. Yes, with this woman by his side, he would never doubt in them again.


	28. Welcoming Party

Arm in arm, the Lannisters strode toward the Main Reception Hall. Brienne gripped Jaime’s metal hand tightly; so much so, she feared she may bend it out of shape. Her free hand clenched for the pommel of her nonexistent sword that usually resided on her hip. Having always dreaded gatherings of larger than five people, she was nervous about this party to officially welcome all the guests to Winterfell.

Brienne figured that Sansa was going to use this event to gauge her standing among the Northern nobility. Though Sansa had planned for the coronation to be tomorrow evening, Brienne had a feeling that tonight’s party would prove that things were too volatile for Sansa to get her way. She could have told the young woman that the situation was not going to be as easy as she thought.  
Sansa had yet to deal with the Northern Lords’ grievances. She should have met them prior to this party, but Sansa’s pride seemed to have dictated otherwise. Brienne did not know what Sansa hoped to prove by ignoring the gentry for so long.

Even she knew that one should not antagonize lords in this manner, and she worried that Sansa was letting pettiness dictate her position. Brienne feared that tonight the low simmer of discontent was about to boil over into a full blown open rebellion.

Brienne wished she could have brought Oathkeeper, but all guests were supposed to attend unarmed. It would be viewed as an affront otherwise. 

Regardless of the politics involved, Brienne hated these sorts of things. It reminded her too much of the events her father forced her to attend when he was trying to marry her off. She had always felt too ungainly and unfeminine during those times. 

It helped now that she had Jaime with her; his presence added to her strength, and at times like these she felt ready to face anything. She also knew he did not care for parties either. Over the years, it seemed that he had learned to ignore what others said of him, instead turning a sharp tongue on those who disparaged him. Right now, she had a feeling her exhausted husband would rather be doing anything other than dealing with pompous nobility who viewed the Lannister family with open contempt.

If it were not so important that they attended this gathering, she would have loved to stay in bed with him. Honestly, she would rather face Ramsay and ten of his ferocious dogs than go to this thing.

Nearing the open doorway, she was surprised not to hear the usual loud, jovial noises coming from within. They both stilled, unsure. There wasn’t even music playing.

“Do you think they moved the reception elsewhere?” Jaime whispered with a frown. “Oh, let’s just forget this and go back to our room for a well-deserved nap. She dismissed us from her service anyway.” He said and yawned for emphasis.

While they had been getting dressed for this affair, Brienne had informed him of Sansa’s final act of releasing them from their vow to Catelyn Stark.

“Come on, you can sleep later.” Curious, she tugged on his arm and pulled him into the large room with her.

Surprisingly, they found the chamber packed with people. The somber guests were clustered together in their various social groups, quietly talking to one another. They made sure to keep their voices low so it was difficult to overhear them. At Jaime and Brienne’s entry, their murmuring stopped, and the audience turned to stare at the Lannisters.

Unnerved by the predatory gazes aimed their way, Brienne felt naked without her sword. Unlike the other lords and ladies who proudly wore their House colors and sigils in ornate, gaudy clothes, she and Jaime had done the best they could with what had been available to them. To represent their House, they wore red outfits with matching cloaks, which made her feel as if they stood out more. Even the Wildings and clans people had cleaned themselves up and wore the finest of what they owned.

The room was festively decorated with the different House banners hung upon the walls. It was also brightly lit from the many bracketed torches and a tall candelabrum hung down from the ceiling of this large chamber. Lit braziers added warmth to the chilly room. But even with all this, there was still an overwhelming gloom that seemed to hang around the disenfranchised nobles. 

All the chairs and tables had been pushed to the side to open the floor to allow mingling of the guests. No one seemed to be taking advantage of the space and instead stayed clumped together throughout the room.

At the back of the long Hall, the ornate chairs on the dais stood empty. Their usual occupants were probably hiding from the unrest, Brienne thought. They would have to face the crowd soon though; the tension in the room was getting palpable. She had no idea how Lady Sansa was going to convince these hostile lords to support her rule, let alone get them to listen to her.

Most of those present turned back to their groups and continued talking in hushed voices, ignoring Jaime and Brienne. 

Brienne was surprised that no one came to them. She thought they had been viewed as Lady Sansa’s closest confidants. Maybe others now feared their reputation of being her strongest supporters and her deadliest.

A servant approached with a tray laden with cups and offered them wine. Both took the chalices without comment, and the server continued onwards. After tasting the drink, Jaime said with a slight cough, “A little strong, but it will do.”

Brienne sniffed the contents and made a displeased grimace. It smelled incredibly stringent, “Are you sure this is not used to strip furniture?”

Jaime took another sip and seemed to have trouble swallowing it. “It’s not bad,” he coughed, “I just think it has been curing for a long time.”

She still refused to try it and said, “It was probably left at the bottom of the wine rack for a reason.”

“It would be just like Tyrion to serve less than the best. He always did hate the pompous nobility. Ah, speaking of my brother—” He nodded in the direction of where Tyrion and Sansa were tucked far back in the corner of the room. 

Next to them stood Jon Snow, and he looked as displeased to be there as much as the Lannisters felt. It was obvious that the three of them were sizing up the room as they studied the clusters of aristocracy with worry. Theon and Podrick stood even further back from them, as if afraid their presence would cause a scene.

With a sullen exhale, Brienne tried to get over her feelings at being excluded by Sansa and her advisors. Hearing her sadden sigh, Jaime nuzzled her neck, and she smiled at the contact.

Jaime smirked at his brother’s evident distress. Then another server approached them carrying a tray with pickled feet of some kind. Jaime blanched at the offering, but Brienne took one and delicately nibbled on it until it was just pieces of glistening bone.

Grimacing at the various available foods being offered around the room, Jaime declined the next plate that was coming their way. As the servant passed them by, Brienne deposited the remains onto the serving dish.

“Can’t they just have normal food up North?” Jaime groused and handed her a red handkerchief. After she wiped her mouth and fingers, she went to give it back to him. Eyeing the stained greasy cloth, Jaime magnanimously said, “No, please keep it. It might be good to suck on later if you get hungry.”

Shrugging, she tucked the material up her sleeve. “It wasn’t bad. I think it was a goat.”

“Hum.” he rumbled back in an answer and took a big gulp of wine before coughing from its potency. Not wishing to drink her own, Brienne traded cups with her husband as he finished draining his. Before she could stop him, a server carrying a large pitcher of wine suddenly refilled her cup.

After hearing her long-suffering sigh, Jaime gently nudged her, “Buck up Brienne; this will be us in a few weeks.”

“And that is supposed to make me feel better?” She was looking around for a place to dump the caustic beverage.

From across the Hall, Brienne noticed that the Wilding Tormund dared to cross the imaginary boundary lines of status and stalked over to the group of Wull clansmen. The tall red-headed giant of a man formally bowed to Celyne and leaned over to whisper in her ear. Brienne was surprised to see her giggle in answer. Celyne craned her head up to whisper something back. His pleased grin comforted Brienne. If anything, she was relieved that she was no longer his object of attention.

Continuing to survey the room, Brienne was happy to see that Lady Cerwyn was in attendance amongst the nobles as well. She was surrounded by new suitors. Brienne had heard that Sansa had promised to have the Cerwyn homestead rebuilt after Ramsay had burned it to the ground, as well as a generous restitution bestowed on Lady Cerwyn to repay the family’s stolen funds. Already, some of the lesser gentries were making their moves on her. 

Brienne smirked when she saw Hallis Mollen attempting to curry the older woman’s favor with some boastful tale of adventure. Lady Cerwyn politely followed along but was not doing a very good job of stifling her yawn. 

Then, from the corner of her eye, Brienne saw Lord Rodrik Ryswell. The man was sporting a nasty bruised eye and swollen cheek. No doubt from his tussle with the Wildings yesterday in the underground passage. She covered her mouth with the wine cup so he would not see her smile at his plight.

She watched when he jabbed Wyman Manderly in the ribs and then pointed at Brienne. He whispered something in the corpulent man’s ear. Manderly’s eyes widened in surprise as he stared at Brienne. She lowered her cup, and her toothy grin made him flinch in response. The two lords huddled closer together and talked quietly to one another, ignoring their wives.

After another quick glance at her, Manderly nodded. He turned to say something else to Rodrik, but the noble shook his head and quickly darted off in the opposite direction. Motioning to his wife, the smug Lord and Lady of White Harbor then sauntered towards the Lannisters. They exuded a confident strut that most of the Northern Lords did not deserve to exhibit.

It wasn’t hard for Jaime to hear the loud exhale of drudgery expelled from his wife’s mouth. His eyes turned to see what she was glowering at and he nudged her arm. Through gritted teeth he sing-song, “We can’t cause a scene, my love.”

She replied just as melodious, “I know…”

Reaching them, Lord Manderly forced a smile to his lips that Brienne tried to mimic, but hers came out more like a fierce grimace. Lady Manderly appeared as if she was about to faint.

Covering his recoil with a slight bow, Lord Manderly said, “Lord and Lady Lannister, nice to make your formal acquaintance.” He frowned when Jaime and Brienne did not return his proper greetings. 

His wife had recovered her bearings and tried to engage them herself, “It is a nice event, is it not?”

Jaime took a sip of wine and glanced around the room as if the Manderlys weren’t there. When Lord Manderly loudly cleared his throat, Jaime focused on him, “Ah, Lord and Lady Manderly, I did not see you.” He eyed the plump couple up and down mockingly. Brienne fought the urge to laugh.

Though affronted, Lord Manderly once more attempted civility, “Yes, all the surviving Northern nobility are present, Lannister.” Quelling his outrage, he dipped his head at all the Wildings and Northern Clans present. “I say, had I known those wretches were all invited, I would have brought my army with me.” He sneered over the rim of his cup when the red headed Wilding leader barked out a laugh that rivaled any donkey’s bray. Though Tormund was across the room from them, the sound carried, and they watched as the Wildling placed his arm around Celyne’s waist possessively. Brienne smirked when the Wull leader elbowed him hard in the ribs. Tormund grunted loudly, but when he gazed at Celyne, even Brienne could see the admiration in his eyes. Celyne did not seem to mind his attentions at all, for she leaned into his hold.

Lord Manderly cleared his throat to get their attention once more. Sighing, Brienne was already tired of the game, and she had just gotten to the party. “What can we do for you, my lord and lady?” She exhaled exasperatedly. 

Seeing that his pretext was not working, the Northern lord rumbled, “I believe that the gentry should work together as one.” He glanced spuriously at the Northern Clans and Wildings. “We cannot allow these ignorant heathens to have a say in what is rightfully ours.”

Jaime stated with a slightly mocking voice, “Ah, I see. Well, since we are not from here, I do not believe that we can be of any help in this matter.”

Lady Manderly simpered, “But surely Lady Sansa will listen to you.”

Brienne snapped, “The Warden has made up her mind. It is best that you take your grievances directly to her.”

Lord Manderly’s eyes flared and he hissed, “You think I won’t? She will rue the day she thought she could circumvent the Northern lords.” Without a backward glance, he and his wife stomped away.

“Gods, how much longer do we have to stay?” Brienne groused, her gaze rose to the ceiling.

Jaime took a sip of wine as he asked, “What, at this party or in the North?”

“Both,” she replied sourly.

“Don’t ask me, wife,” Jaime smiled cheekily. “You were the one who wanted to honeymoon up here.”

Glowering, she then heard a stir among the guests, and her gaze once more traveled around the room. She spotted Tyrion and Sansa finally making the rounds, arm in arm. Jon trailed behind them like an errant duckling, his hand resting where Longclaw would normally reside. The Wildings and Northern Clans were most receptive to Sansa and Tyrion, no doubt pleased with the new Warden’s rule and her promise to make things right for them. 

The Northern nobility glared at the new power couple and only curtly addressed them as they passed. Anytime Tyrion and Sansa expressed signs of affection to one another, be it softly-cooed words or a peck on the cheek, looks of disdain flickered on the faces of the aristocracy. The Northern lords and ladies were obviously not buying it. 

Standing at the other end of the room, Jaime and Brienne were the last people that Tyrion and Sansa approached. Sansa and Brienne nodded pleasantly to each other, but still, the air was thick with tension. Sansa haughtily said, “Lord and Lady Lannister, so glad you could finally make it.”

“Oh, did we miss the fun?” Jaime innocently asked.

Tyrion smirked, “Only the Northern lords demanding a private audience with my wife.”

Brienne still refused to say anything, so Jaime was forced to be the talkative one, “And how did that turn out?”

Tyrion shrugged noncommittally, “Lots of posturing, but nothing resolved. I warned Sansa that we might have an uprising if this was not dealt with soon.”

“They have no choice in the matter.” Sansa coolly stated, then seeing Celyne she said, “Ah, excuse me. I have need to speak to one of my vassals.”

The trio silently watched the obstinate woman leave. After a look to her husband, Brienne turned and crossed the room to speak with Lady Cerwyn.

Left on their own, Tyrion said to Jaime, “I see that our wives are no longer on good terms.”

Jaime nodded, “Yes, and it is a wonder that even I am willing to speak to you.” 

Unable to look his brother in the eye, Tyrion lowered his gaze apologetically. “Jaime, I am sorry I could not tell you about our plans regarding Baelish.”

“Am I too honorable now for your secrets, brother?” Jaime sniped.

Tyrion sighed and looked Jaime in the eyes. “No, but I did not want to put you in a position where you would have to lie to your wife. I don’t think she would have taken that at all well.”

Jaime acknowledged his brother’s thoughtfulness, “Nice deflection, brother, but I still thought it was wrong not to alert us ahead of time.”

Tyrion nodded in understanding. “Alas, it was not my choice, but I stand by my wife’s convictions.”

Jaime snorted, and then he stated grudgingly, “Though it saddens me that Brienne no longer has her as a friend, I am relieved that your wife confides in you more now.”

Tyrion slugged down a gulp of wine, his gaze distant. Now he made sure to keep his voice low, “Yes, I was surprised when she told me she wanted to get rid of Littlefinger.” 

Jaime stopped drinking a moment and stared at his brother, his voice also low, “Ah, so you suggested using the poison on him?”

Tyrion smirked, “Well, it would have been poetic justice for him to die that way after how Joffrey was dispatched, but no, that was her idea, too. Now, what will convince the Northerners to accept her as Warden? That was my idea.”

Jaime frowned at his enigmatic brother, “What are you talking about, Tyrion?”

Mysteriously, Tyrion replied, “You shall see.” 

“More secrets, brother?” Jaime snapped at him. 

Tyrion rocked on the balls of his feet, obviously feeling pleased with himself. But before Tyrion could reply, he spotted Sansa motioning him over subtly. Lords Manderly and Rodrik had her cornered, and he could hear their rising voices. “Ah, my wife needs saving. Excuse me.” 

Jaime glowered at his retreating brother.

Seeing that the coast was clear, Brienne came back to her husband, “Did he tell you anything?”

With an angry shrug, Jaime spat, “He was less open with me than usual. But then I have a feeling more is about to be revealed.” Their attention was drawn away when they heard the outraged declarations from the Northern lords over the din of the others. More of the nobility had joined the lords and were pressing in around Sansa as if their combined mass could influence her.

Celyne stood right behind Sansa, and it appeared as if Tormund was trying to hold the new clan leader back from attacking Lord Manderly. The Wildings and the Northern Clans were also beginning to crowd behind Sansa, their aggravation growing from the implied threats aimed at their new Warden.

But Lady Sansa was the epitome of calm; only her clenched fists shook slightly at her side, which spoke of her barely-controlled fury. 

Tyrion raced over, “Lords and ladies, now is not the time for this. The discussion regarding Lady Sansa’s position as Warden is to be tomorrow afternoon.” Tyrion said, “It seems bad form that you are doing this now when a party is being held so graciously for you all.”

Howland Reed sneered, “This reception is a farce and an insult to us. How dare you callously disregard our say in what happens to the North.”

Rodrik groused, “Party? The whole time we have been here, we have been ignored.” There was more shoving as the outraged gentry crowded closer.

Lord Manderly huffed insulted, “Yes, you’re the ones who are pushing your own agenda without consulting us first.”

“Please, please, let us stay calm.” Tyrion had hoped that his interceding would have worked; instead, it only seemed to rile up the Northern nobility even more. 

As the Northern Nobles pressed in, it seemed that what Brienne feared was coming to fruition. Concerned for Sansa’s safety, she drew closer to them. Jaime reluctantly followed behind her. Now close enough, Brienne overhead Manderly’s wife accuse, “A Lannister as your husband—your parents would be outraged!” 

The other nobility nodded vehemently in agreement.

Lady Sansa would not be bullied, and Brienne silently cheered her friend’s strength, “At least my husband fought on my behalf in the battle against Bolton and his bastard. Where were all of you? The only ones willing to help me were the Cerwyns.”

“And look at where that got them, he is dead and everything they own is gone.” Lord Rodrik spat.

Magnanimously, Sansa dipped her head at Lady Cerwyn. “Lord Cerwyn’s sacrifice has not gone unnoticed. And none of yours would have been either, had you sided with me. Now you will just have to survive on what you already have.”

“That’s ridiculous! We are far more deserving than that lot,” Lord Manderly’s finger shook as he pointed at the Wildings. “They are savages that belong on the other side of the Wall. We will put up with the Northern Clans because at least they belong here, but those other brutes must go!”

Rodrik bellowed, “How dare you give these people anything?” His bruised faced was a rictus of outrage and Brienne realized he had not learned his lesson from the tussle against the Wildings yesterday.

Sansa shook her head, “Both groups came to my aid and helped me to secure Winterfell in the name of the Starks. And they will be justly rewarded for their sacrifices.” 

“They have no right to the Gift.” Manderly snapped at Sansa. The gentry chorused their dislike, their voices adding strength to Manderly’s convictions. 

“Why, do you want to be near the Wall?” Tyrion could not help but crow back at the disgruntled lord. It seemed to take away some of Manderly’s bluster, but he still would not back down.

“The Free Folk have proven that they have our backs,” Sansa answered through gritted teeth. 

There were more grumblings from the nobility, and a look from Manderly hushed them. “But shouldn’t that have gone to the Northern Clans? Instead you gave them the Dreadfort.” 

“Yes, those people wouldn’t even know what to do with such a keep, anyway,” Howland Reed sneered. “Don’t they abhor walls, preferring to stay out in the wild like the barbarians that they are? It is too good for them.” 

Celyne spat at Reed’s feet. “My people deserve it more than yours! While you cowered in hiding, my father died for the cause!”

Reed nearly charged forward, but Hallis Mollen held him back. The nobility shuffled in indignation and pushed forward. 

Sansa’s strong voice cut through the tension, “Enough! As my husband stated, the Gift is open to whoever wants it.” She coolly stared at Manderly, who glanced away, refusing her challenge. “No takers among the gentry? Good, then it goes to the Free Folk. As for the Dreadfort, frankly, I wished those ruins had been destroyed so that there was nothing left but a festering pit in the land. Unfortunately, it must be rebuilt in case we need a place to retreat. The Northern Clans are best suited for that rugged terrain, and they will guard it until restoration is complete.”

Her declaration seemed to barely mollify the nobility, but the Wildings and Northern Clans puffed up in pride. She continued, “And they will have first use of it until it is needed for other things.”

Once more the gentry chorused their opposition. “The Dreadfort is too opulent for such people.” 

Manderly stated calmly, “My lady, it should be given to one of us. We would know how to properly run it.”

Sansa emphatically shook her head, “I stand by my word.”

Manderly sneered, “You are not the Warden to give such a command, and you never will be.” 

Her cold gaze took them all in, and she sniped, “I am glad none of you helped me. Otherwise, I would not have made true allies amongst the fine people of the North. At least now I know where your true loyalty lies—amongst yourselves.”

Manderly stood proudly and pressed into Sansa’s space, “You would not be so bold if you did not have a large army at your beck and call.”

Brienne tensed, and before Jaime could stop her, she marched closer to the fray. 

Jaime matched her stride and whispered, “She has others to protect her now, Brienne. They no longer need us, remember?” True to his word, the Wilding and the Northern Clans surrounded the smaller cluster of nobility, vocalizing their support for their Warden. 

Exhaling loudly, Brienne relented her aggressive pursuit and stopped to stand just on the fringes of the large crowd. 

Brienne overheard Howland Reed hiss, “Yes, you won’t always have an army to back you up, Lady Sansa. From what I hear, they will soon be leaving to the Wall.” 

Brienne wondered who had been feeding them information. But then, no matter the fidelity, there would always be a needy servant or underling willing to part with words in exchange for a few coins.

“And what is he doing here?” Rodrik pointed at Theon, who seemed to fold in on himself at the sudden attention. “Is this traitor loyal to you as well? He should be in irons after what he did to your brothers and your ancestral home.” 

“Yes, Lady Sansa. Your House seems to be overrun with traitors. I don’t think you are setting a good example at even being the Lady of Winterfell.” Manderly’s shrewd gaze also included Tyrion. Both men fidgeted by her side.

Sansa quickly defended them. “They are already making amends to my family and this House.”

Manderly’s mouth twisted cruelly, “So young and so foolish.”

The Northern Clans’ and the Wildings’ objections grew louder, and Rodrik called out, “What makes you think that we will ever let you be Warden of the North? You will never be your father, nor your mother for that matter.”

Even if she did not have the support of her allies, Sansa would never back down again. Bristling, she spat, “You do not think me like my father, and you are right. He was nothing like me. My resolve has been forged by the horrible trials I survived at King’s Landing. I watched my father beheaded for being too honorable for the King’s liking, my family torn apart. My mother and oldest brother murdered for a worthless betrayal. I am the oldest Stark living, and it is my duty to rule Winterfell as Warden of the North. My father was a great man, but he allowed principles to decide his actions. I, though, will do what is best for my people, regardless of what I have to do to accomplish it.”

Manderly only sneered, “We shall see, my lady.” 

The way in which he said ‘lady’ made Brienne want to punch him.

“I advise you to think hard before you act on any threats, my lord,” Tyrion said calmly.

“Oh, and what will you do? Cry into your cups like the cuckold that you are?” Manderly indicated Podrick who stood in the back, “We know all about her dalliances.”

Jaime growled at the insolence aimed at his brother. The air was thick with tension, both sides trying to intimidate the other.

Brienne saw Tyrion gently touch his wife’s arm, and Sansa exhaled, once more icy calm. “That is no more, my lord. My heart belongs to my husband, Tyrion Lannister” She then addressed the surrounding gentry, “Regardless of our differences, we need to all be a united front under one rule.”

Manderly still would not back down, and he spat, “That will never happen if we put you in charge. A mere girl will never be decreed the Warden.”

“But a Stark is the only one who can stop what is coming!” Sansa quickly shook her head and tried again, “Regardless of who you think should be the Warden, I implore you that we need more fighters to face our newest enemy.”

Howland snorted and said, “What the Hand and the King coming to fix things, right? Don’t think we will stand in their way, little girl.”

Lady Cerwyn came forward. “I think we need to hear what she has to say.”

“Of course, you would support her after she just gave you so much.” Howland sneered. Hallis Mollen leveled a dirty look at him and placed a protective arm around Lady Cerwyn’s shoulders.

Adamant, Lady Cerwyn shrugged free from his touch and stated, “No, I support her because she has a legitimacy to rule. She is a Stark, after all.” Manderly did not miss that some of the nobility nodded in agreement with her.

Hallis piped in, “She is right; a Stark should oversee Winterfell.”

“Alright, tell us of this so called new enemy.” A smug Manderly crossed his arms and waited.

Tormund and Celyne began to grumble again. Sansa glanced over her shoulder and they quieted. Once more she addressed the nobility, but now there was a hint of pleading to her tone, “There is a menace coming from past the Wall that will soon sweep across all of Westeros. Already their influence reaches this Keep and beyond. We need your help to make a stand at the Wall before it is too late.”

Rodrik spat, “Menace? You are the real menace.” 

“I assure you that these creatures are unstoppable if we allow them to get past that barrier.”

Manderly brushed off her concerns, “You are using one of the Boltons’ excuses to rationalize your leadership. Those rumors were proven false long ago.”

Rodrik nodded emphatically, “Yes, these so-called monsters from beyond the Wall. They are nothing but a fabrication by Roose Bolton to justify raising our taxes and conscripting our armies.”

Sansa frowned at such an accusation. “I would never lie about a threat to my people.”

“Your people.” Manderly turned and addressed the other offended nobility, “Listen to her. Only a child would believe such fairy tales.” 

Having reached her limit, the look on Sansa’s face was not pleasant, and she murmured to her brother, “Jon?” 

Her brother signaled Theon to come with him, and they both hustled through the main doors.

“Since you will not wait until tomorrow for my consideration to be the Warden, then I might as well show you now.”

Then, on Sansa’s unsaid command, Tormund and Celyne motioned to their people. The nobles reacted defensively as the Wildings and Northern Clansmen began to push them back. The sounds of outrage rose as the semi-circle grew around Sansa and Tyrion.

The Northern lords protested, some even physically tried to shove back, but the Wildings and Northern Clans were stronger than them. 

Manderly yelled, “We will not put up with such effrontery, young lady.”

The Lannisters were also forced back with the frustrated nobility. Though reluctant to abandon the woman she once served, Brienne had no choice but to join her husband on the outer fringes of the upset crowd. Thankfully, her height made it easy for her to see over the crowd.

Jaime groused, “Well, now we can get some food unimpeded.” He looked around and saw that the servants had all huddled together, talking to one another quietly. The flickering torchlight made the food glisten unappetizingly on the trays discarded on one of the back tables. “Maybe it was just as well they are no longer serving… Though I could use a refill.” He signaled a servant to bring over his pitcher of wine.

Brienne scowled at Jaime who shrugged in response. Now was not the time for levity.

The servant stopped his approach when the sound of inhuman growls and the rattling of chains echoed from the main doors that Jon and Theon had exited from. There was the noise of a struggle for whatever Jon and Theon wrangled, was putting up quite a fight. The servant blanched and scurried back to the others.

The grumbles and yells from the nobility lowered when they realized that something strong was battling back against the Lord Commander of the Night Watch. When the animalistic snarls grew closer, the gentry murmured worriedly and backed up quickly, heading away from the main exit. 

So as not to be trampled, Jaime grabbed Brienne’s hand and tugged her towards the back of the room with the retreating nobility. 

Jon and Theon re-entered the room, pulling hard on a thick, taut chain. The metal clanked as they tugged on the bindings attached to something still obscured in the darkened entry.

Sansa stated smugly, “Lord Manderly, what you said was true—make believe cannot hurt you, but reality can. Jon, if you would.”

Jon nodded to his giant Wilding friend. The burly Tormund took the chain from Jon and held on tight to keep whatever on the other end of the shackle in control. A determined Jon marched to stand next to his sister in the center of the room. His hand rested on the pommel of Longclaw. It did not go unnoticed that he was now the only one armed in the room.

Lord Manderly pushed back to reach Sansa, but the wall of Clansmen held strong. With other nobles pressing close behind him, the corpulent lord was starting to regain his courage. “What is the meaning of this?” He demanded.

Sansa could hardly keep the malice out of her voice. “I am about to show you that fairy tales do come true.” 

She called out, “Bring it in here, into the light.” Tormund and Theon dragged a shabby-looking creature into the room. Since it stood on two legs, it was obviously human; but its bright blue eyes were disconcerting, otherworldly in appearance. A chain was locked around its neck, but that was the only binding it wore. Its arms and legs were free, and its claw-like hands swiped at the stunned nobility as it was hauled past them. 

Only the Lannisters recognized the creature for what it had once been. Though it had only been one night since his death, his dull clothes hardly resembled the opulence of what they once represented. Now barely resembling a man, the creature that was once Lord Baelish snarled as it fought against the chain. 

Brienne whispered, appalled, “What has she done?”

Growing pale at the sight, Jaime forced out, “She has made the perfect example. One to show her enemies of what comes from beyond the Wall, as well as what awaits them should they refuse to help her.”

Tormund and Theon dragged the snapping, growling creature further into the room. Fearful, the nobility jostled towards the main exit to escape.

Lady Sansa’s voice rang out, “Free Folk and Clansmen, make sure that no one leaves this room until I give the command.” Sansa wanted a captive audience. Two imposing Wildings rushed over to the main doors and pushed them shut before anyone could get out. 

There was confusion in the crowd at first, but, as the wight that was once Littlefinger raged around the room, a collective realization began to dawn. The crowd’s whimpers rose to a crescendo as they stared aghast at the creature before them. 

“That’s a man?” Someone whispered. 

“An abomination,” cried someone else.

The blue-eyed monster continued to thrash against its chains. It was only Tormund’s strength that kept it from attacking the crowd. He yanked it back when it got too close to Manderly and Rodrik, and the lords paled and shrieked with fright.

Sansa did not miss the nobilities fear and uncertainty. She pushed closer to the crowd. “When someone dies, or is killed, they come back as one of these things.” 

Her relaxed demeanor was opposite of those in the room. “The White Walkers from beyond the Wall have decided they want to expand their ranks by killing as many of us as possible. Even far away, their influence is strong enough to turn us all into these creatures.” She indicated Littlefinger, “After his death, his cooling body was placed just outside our ramparts in the woods. In no time, he was quickly turned into one of those creatures. That is how close their power lies.”

The thing clawed in the chain around its neck, doing its best to try to wrestle free. Sansa nodded at the monster, “This is only one of them. Now imagine a whole army waiting just beyond the Wall.” 

“Surely you can talk some sense to them?” Manderly whined, his tongue flicking out to lick along his sweaty upper lip nervously like a lizard.

“They cannot be reasoned with or ignored like the Boltons tried. They are unrelenting killers.” Sansa said matter-of-factly.

Lord Maderly studied the creature. He frowned when he noticed that the signet on the lapel was that of a Sparrow. Recognizing that the designation belonged to the Lord of the Vale, he gasped at the abomination, “My Gods, is that Lord Baelish?” 

“It was Lord Baelish,” Sansa replied cruelly, a grin tugging at her lips. “Trust me; he does not deserve your tears.”

A sinking feeling dawned on Lord Manderly, “You killed him?” 

Sansa stared into his flabbergasted face and shrugged, “It was nothing that wasn’t owed for his treachery against my family.” Her voice grew cold, as her calculating gaze swept the room. “Lord Baelish has been dealt with accordingly. As will any who go against what is best for the people of the North. I told you, I am nothing like my father.”

Manderly gulped, “Truly you would not be so cruel as to—”

“My family will no longer be threatened or controlled. Let this be a lesson to all of you. He was an enemy to my family and my people.” 

Still unsure, the nobility’s murmurs grew louder. Sansa had to raise her voice to be heard, “Hear me. You think you will not be affected by the coming army of dead, but you are wrong. They are relentless in their wish for conquest. They want to turn each one of you into an undead abomination to help them conquer this land. We need soldiers to fight them, we need your men. We are the last means to stop them from succeeding!”

When her voice rose, the creature that had been Baelish turned to her, as if he heard her siren call. It stopped swiping at the crowd, its focus only on Sansa and it began to shamble towards her. Tormund yanked Littlefinger back before he could go far. 

Lady Cerwyn cried out, “How can we stop such creatures?”

Quickly, Sansa explained to the horrified onlookers, “The best way to kill these creatures is by decapitation. Then burn the body just to make sure.”

Brienne swore she saw an uptick at the corner of the creature’s mouth. It reminded her of Littlefinger’s shrewdness, and she prayed that his old proclivities had died with the human part of him.

Unnerved by the creature’s intense gaze, Sansa stuttered, “As I said, we are your last hope to stay alive, but we will need your help. And I must be your Warden to make it work.” 

The crowd of horrified nobles started to nod in stunned agreement. 

“What do you say?” Sansa asked them.

Gauging those around him, Manderly finally answered, “My lady, I do not think we have much of a choice.” He could not stop staring at the horrible creature before him.

Brienne could see the tension leave Sansa’s body, and her grin was one of triumph and relief, but that did not last long. Baelish’s haunting gaze made Sansa gulp and she hastily beckoned Jon to finish him off. “I believe our point has been made. Jon, if you would show them how the situation is taken care of.” 

Leaving his sister’s side, Jon advanced on Baelish, Longclaw raised and tight in his grip. 

The monster growled as Jon approached. Suddenly, it lunged toward Tormund and grabbed the chain. In a quick movement that revealed its inherent strength, it ripped the chain free from the surprised Wilding’s grasp. 

The crowd screamed as the creature turned and sprang toward Sansa. Its eyes shone with the same cunning Baelish was known for, and by its determined gait, this time it would not be denied the woman it desired.


	29. Be Careful What You Wish For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My awesome Beta pushed this through. She rocks!!!!

Tormund lunged and caught the scuttling tail end of the chain. He held tight as he stretched out on the slick, cold floor. But Baelish had the advantage of being on his feet, and with the tenacity that seemed to magnify in these undead, he slowly dragged the large Wilding behind him as he angled determinedly towards Sansa. 

Celyne was instantly in Littlefinger’s way, blocking his path. A sudden sweep of the creature’s claw-like hands had her ducking out of the way from reflex. Unarmed, she had no weapon to challenge the blue-eyed monster with. As he lumbered past, she charged forward and leveled her clasped hands hard onto his back.

Littlefinger staggered forward. Then with a growl, he swung about and backhanded her. She flew backward and lay sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain. Jon Snow quickly checked on her and then began to stalk towards Baelish, Longclaw unsheathed and ready.

Baelish ignored the Lord Commander of the Night Watch, his focus only on reaching Sansa. He tugged harder on the chain and gained more ground towards his goal, snarling, frustrated that the red-headed Wilding would not let go.

With the undead creature on the loose, the once-stunned crowd of nobles and servants panicked. They screamed and surged towards the main doors, trying to get past the surprised Wildings that guarded the exit. The stampeding crowd pressed tight against the sentries, and the crushing weight prevented them from being able to pull open the doors to let anyone out. 

Caught up in the pandemonium, Jaime and Brienne were swept along with the crowd. It was just like the Dreadfort all over again.

Brienne held tight to Jaime’s hand, and they fought against the tide of nobility to get to Sansa’s side. But there were too many people in the way, and they were jostled towards the front of the charging group. Finally, they shoved their way to one side, but they were cut off from reaching Sansa and Tyrion from the wall of people before them.

From her height, Brienne watched apprehensively as the single-minded corpse slowly lumbered towards Sansa, Jon Snow cautiously following, waiting for the best chance to strike. Her experience from the past reminded her of how persistent these undead creatures could be, and Littlefinger was no exception.

Sansa and Tyrion had retreated from the prowling creature, but they soon found themselves trapped with their backs pressed against the raised dais floor.

Brienne saw Tyrion stand in front of his wife protectively, knees quaking, but he would not get out of the way of the approaching threat. Theon and Podrick stood beside him, their presence aiding to shield their Warden.

Jon waved back the few Wildings and Clansmen that were near enough to try to stop Baelish. He wanted the honor of killing him. 

Jon was about to swing his sword, but Baelish suddenly swiped at a nearby lit brazier, knocking it over. As the red-hot coals tumbled out Jon’s feet, he had to jump back or risk getting burned. 

The glowing charcoals scattered under a Stark banner and suddenly it was on fire. As the flames licked up the side of the pennant, the one next to it also caught and soon the intense heat of the blaze drove Jon and the others against the wall. 

Tormund still fought to pull the creature back, but with no purchase on the smooth floor, this was proving to be difficult, and the creature wrestled closer to its objective.

Soon Baelish faced his nemesis, the small Lannister Lord. The creature’s blue eyed gaze gleamed with malicious intent as he spied the diminutive man trying to defend his wife, a small carving knife clutched tightly in his hand. 

“This obsession you have for Tully women is pathetic and reeks of desperation.” Tyrion sniffed the air, “No, actually it is just the smell you exude.” Tyrion derided the corpse, his voice barely shaking from fear. “Now, you will leave my Lady wife be and crawl back into your hole where you belong.” 

Baelish’s cold blue eyes stared soullessly down at him as the creature swiped at Tyrion.

Tyrion suddenly feigned to the right and then slashed upwards, slicing Baelish across the stomach.

Unaffected by the wound, Littlefinger swung again and struck Tyrion hard against the head. As Tyrion swayed from the blow, Baelish lashed out with his claws, and four streaks of red seeped through Tyrion's’ torn tunic front.

Tyrion cried out in pain and fell back when Littlefinger struck him once more across the face, knocking him out. Tyrion collapsed to the floor and lay unmoving, blood oozing from his various wounds. The creature towered over Tyrion, ready to strike one final time. 

Too far away to do anything, Jaime and Brienne screamed, “NO!” 

Suddenly, Sansa threw herself over her husband, attempting to shield his small form. Baelish hesitated just long enough to enable Podrick and Theon to converge and stand in front of Sansa.

Baelish roared and shoved aside Sansa’s unarmed friends to the ground. Sansa glared up at the monster who leered over her. 

But before he could reach out to grab her, he was yanked back. Behind him, Tormund and Celyne had managed to wrap the end of the chain around a nearby pillar. They then used the column to heave Baelish away from their Warden. He struggled against the pull, finally fighting them to a standstill. 

Once they had secured the chain around the pillar, they joined Jon in advancing on Littlefinger. Tormund carried a lit torch, and Celyne had grabbed a nearby chair. 

Baelish’s calculating haunted gaze took in their approaching forms, and he stopped fighting against the chain, even allowing some slack to occur.

An apprehensive Jon stalked towards Littlefinger. This one was cleverer than the others. Finally reaching the wright, Jon whirled his dreaded blade, preparing to strike. 

The creature barred his teeth and hissed at Jon. The Lord Commander sneered in reply and swung Longclaw at Baelish’s neck.

Just as the sharp Valyrian blade arced downwards, Baelish leaned back and pulled the chain taut. The sword missed Littlefinger, but not the chain and Longclaw easily cleaved the metal links apart instead. 

Littlefinger was now free, and as he held onto the remnants of the chain, a sick grin creased his pale features. 

Baelish than used the attached length of chain as a weapon and slammed the sheared end against the surprised Lord Commander’s head, knocking him to the ground, unconscious.

As blood oozed from the cut from Jon’s temple, Tormund roared and charged Littlefinger, torch raised to bludgeon the creature.

Baelish whipped the chain and wrapped it around the mighty red-haired Wildings neck, choking him with it. Tormund dropped his weapon and clawed at his throat as he fell to his knees.

Celyne screamed in rage and rushed at Baelish, who released the chain around the gasping Wilding neck. She tried to hit the creature with the chair, but he bashed it down with the chain and then slammed his fist hard enough into her shoulder to dislocate it. 

Celyne’s howl of attack changed to that of pain, and she crumpled to the ground. Tormund crawled to her side, and both helped one another up to get out of Baelish’s way.   
With all three incapacitated, the creature once more turned on Sansa and shambled towards her. 

The few nearby Wildings and Clansmen darted in and out like hornets, trying to stop Baelish, who swatted at them with the dangling chain. Their distraction worked to further slow him down, but still, he pressed onwards. With each stuttered step forward, he continued to knock them aside like errant gnats. 

Brienne went to charge forward to help, but Jaime grasped her arm, holding her back as they both watched in silent horror as to what was unfolding. Once more, Baelish used the heavy chain as a weapon to bash someone down, and Jaime hissed, “No, it is too dangerous unarmed.”

Behind them, Brienne heard the scared nobles pressed up against the door, their whimpers of pain and fear reached her ears. But no one was relenting, and the crush of bodies still prevented the doors from being pulled open for any to escape. 

There were more screams of terror when another House banner went up in flames. The banner was like a wick, and the fire flickered against a nearby table, and soon it was smoldering. The flames would soon reach the end of the dais, but those closest were too busy trying to stop Baelish to put it out. 

By now, the thick dark smoke was beginning to fill the ceiling, and soon it would descend on all below if it was not dealt with shortly. More nobles rushed the doors, their sense of panic renewed.

Lady Cerwyn was shoved in the back by a hysterical Howland Reed and fell, thus further blocking the way. She was nearly trampled underfoot, and she curled up into a ball to protect herself. The Lannisters heard her cries of distress over the frenzied crowd.

Brienne was torn between helping her friends and Sansa. 

Jaime quickly surmised the problem and grabbed her arm. “I will help Tyrion and Sansa. You see to Lady Cerwyn and get everyone out of here.”

She was still hesitant. Brienne went to shrug him free, but Jaime implored, “She needs your help, as do the others before we all die from smoke inhalation. They need your leadership to tell them what to do.” She began to protest, so he continued, “And they will listen to you. They wouldn’t dare not to.” 

They watched apprehensively as Littlefinger’s chain took out another Wilding. A nearby Clansman feigned and lunged, but Baelish made short work of him as well. By now, the flames had ignited the edge of the dais, and the wood began to burn. More of the furniture caught on fire and the spreading heat was oppressive as it got closer to them.

Jaime lightly shook her so she would look at him instead of Baelish. “Please Brienne!”

She nodded reluctantly. But before they parted she demanded of him, “Promise me that you won’t do anything risky.” His own words from earlier echoed in her mind.   
He grinned at her cockily. “Remember, self-preservation is a Lannister trait.”

But she knew he lied. Jaime quickly kissed her, and his hand grazed her stomach. Then he darted off.

Brienne watched as Jaime raced towards his brother, ducking in and out so as not to get burned the closer he got to his goal. Seething, she turned and waded into the crowd of nobles and servants.

“Everyone, get back!” She roared. She grabbed the nearest noble by his opulent cape and yanked him back. 

It was Lord Manderly, and once his outrage overrode his fear, he cursed, “Let go, you great beast!”

She ignored his indignation and instructed, “Get your people to back off so they can open the doors!” Gruffly he nodded in agreement and began to yell at those in front of them. He also assisted her in pulling the other nobles and servants away from the door. 

Finally, the Wildings at the door could open them up, and everyone began to stream out of the room, coughing as the thick smoke from the burning banners and furniture reached them. It would take time to get everyone cleared out, but at least they had listened to her. 

With the crowd of nobles and servants thinning, Brienne reached Lady Cerwyn’s side and grabbed her arm. She pulled the shaking woman to her feet. As Lady Cerwyn mumbled her thanks, Hallis Mollen raced back from the mob that had been trying to exit. If Brienne remembered Lady Sansa’s diatribe against him at the meeting of the Northern lords, this man tended to run rather fast, but in the opposite direction of peril.

“Sorry, my Lady.” The sheepish ex-Stark Commander touched Lady Cerwyn’s arm. “Please let me help.” 

Lady Cerwyn and Brienne scowled at Hallis, and he shrank back. 

Without a backwards glance, Lady Cerwyn stumbled away towards the exit. Once the older woman had made it out safely, Brienne rounded and spied the chaos before her. 

Through watering eyes, Brienne surveyed the smoky chambers. She ordered the nearest Wildings, “Pull all those banners down before they go up too! And get the unburned furniture away as well.” 

The Wildings ignored her orders until she grabbed one by the scruff of his furs and raged in his face, “Do as I say!” She released him with a slight shove. The Wilding hesitated only a moment. With a gruff nod, he started yelling and motioning to the others to yank down the banners. 

Taking in those Clansmen that milled around uncertain, she commanded, “All you there, put out those fires before we die from the smoke!” 

If Baelish did not kill them, there was a good chance that would. 

Momentarily squirming under her fierce glare, the remaining Clansmen quickly began to do what they could about the flames as more tables and chairs began to burn. 

Finally, the fighters had completed her orders and all the banners they could get too had been pulled down. Some were working on stamping out the smaller fires, but they needed water to take care of the bigger conflagration that had started near the dais.

The heat simmered the air, and through the gray haze Brienne made out the form of her husband. After circumventing the fires range, Jaime had reached his brother and was glancing fearfully between the prostrate body and the slowly approaching Littlefinger. Brienne could see Jaime’s relief when Sansa nodded that Tyrion was alive. 

Sansa cradled Tyrion’s head in her lap, trying to staunch the flow of blood that oozed from a nasty hit to his head. Jaime tried to shake his brother awake, but Tyrion stayed unconscious. 

Podrick and Theon pressed close behind them, constantly glancing over their shoulders as Baelish stalked toward them. 

“Stand your ground; your Warden needs you!” Jaime ordered the shaky duo.

Before they could do much, Brienne watched in horror as Baelish whipped the chain again and took out her squire and Theon with a vicious flick.

The boys lay moaning on the floor, and Brienne could ignore their plight no longer. She pulled fighters from their current task and pointed at Baelish, bellowing, “Stop him!” 

The men rushed further into the room as Brienne searched for any kind of weapon. As she feared, her conscripted troops were no match for the determined wight, and Baelish’s chain knocked the men out of the way with little more than a death rattle of triumph.

Jaime stepped in front of Baelish, daring him to attack. Littlefinger began to wind the chain up, but Jaime stood tall. 

As he stared into the bright blue eyes of the creature, Jaime snarled, “Why can’t you stay dead like all the other good little corpses?” 

Baelish growled and swatted at Jaime with the chain.

Jaime dodged the whip of Baelish’s chain, nearly getting clipped in the process. Baelish then brushed past him violently, knocking Jaime to the ground, intent on his goal. 

Jaime scrambled to his feet and took a deep breath, readying himself to pounce.

Brienne stared in horror as Littlefinger stood over Sansa, triumphant.

As he raised his claws to kill Sansa, Jaime suddenly jumped on Baelish’s back. The creature roared in frustration and twisted around, trying to snatch Jaime off. He could not reach, and Jaime began to bash Baelish on the head with his metal hand. Though part of his skull soon caved in, Littlefinger finally succeeded in grabbing Jaime’s right arm and flipped him to the side. Jaime fought to stagger to his feet, but he would never reach Sansa in time.

Brienne saw that Littlefinger was ready to kill his obsession; he would not be deterred.

Without a thought, she charged forward, her fingers flexed around the empty spot on her hip. But even unarmed, she was far from defenseless.

She yelled at the creature, “Lord Baelish!” Unheeding the risk, she leaped through the flames, rushing towards the creature. Jaime words echoed in her mind about seeking danger as she quickly advanced on Littlefinger’s ghastly corpse, but she did not care. The people she loved were in danger. “Did you forget about me? You still owe me your head!”

Her cry of challenge caused the creature to hesitate for a moment, and that was all Brienne needed. As she raced forward, she grabbed a full pitcher of wine from a nearby table. She then swung, crashing it over Littlefinger’s head, dousing him in the pungent liquid. 

He staggered and turned on her. Baelish’s eerie gaze followed her as she slowly circled him.

At least his attention was no longer aimed at Sansa, Brienne ruefully thought.

Tormund and Celyne struggled towards them, ready to once more engage Baelish but Brienne yelled to them, “Protect your Warden! I have this!”

Without question, they both stumbled to Sansa’s side. 

Sansa implored to her ex-sworn sword, “No! You will not face this alone!” 

“She isn’t,” Jaime assured her, “Brienne and I will stop him.” Through a small trail of blood leaked down his face from a cut on his temple, he grinned to his wife who fiercely nodded back. They stood opposite of the other, with Baelish in the middle. 

Brienne yelled over her shoulder to Sansa. “You need to go!”

“No, he can’t be moved!” Sansa still cradled Tyrion’s head in her lap and she continued to apply pressure to his wounds.

Baelish roared and lashed out with his chain, but Brienne leapt back. When she landed clear, she nearly slipped on a discarded silver platter that had been dropped.   
Desperate, she scooped it up and brandished it like a shield and stood in Baelish’s way once more.

Jaime kept darting in, hitting the creature with his metal hand to try to get his attention, but it was not working. The dead man’s intent was only focused on Sansa.

Brienne began to slap Littlefinger with the platter, using it as a weapon to try to bash him away, but the creature was too determined to succeed this time, and he would not retreat. 

“Get away from her, you dead son of a bitch! She is not yours!” Brienne’s next hit was so ferocious that she knocked him back a step. This only seemed to enrage the creature more. 

The platter was taking a beating and Littlefinger managed to grab the edge. They wrestled over it. Brienne was surprised at how strong he had become and this added to her worries of the supernatural strength that these creatures seemed to possess. 

Littlefinger finally yanked it from her hold. Brienne stood defenseless in front of the fearful Sansa, fists clenched tight in readiness. She felt the heat of the flames nearing, but still she refused to get out of the being’s way.

Triumphant, he raised his claws to swipe Brienne out of the way.

As he slashed downwards, Brienne ducked under his swing, inadvertently bringing her closer to him. Her nose crinkled in disgust. He smelled awful—the sickly sweet, cloying stench of cheap wine and decay seemed to cling to him like an old cloak. It reminded her of somewhere and her stomach rolled.

Damn her sense of smell! Gods, she hadn’t felt this ill since… Then an idea struck.

“Jaime!” She pointed at the bottles of wine that had been knocked over on the table beside him. “Throw me a bottle!” 

Without comment, he grabbed the corked bottle and chucked it to her.

Brienne caught it in mid-flight and smashed it onto Baelish’s head. The sharp shards of colored glass mixed with the pungent wine that dribbled down his skull. As Littlefinger reeled from the hit, she ordered, “Another!”

Jaime tossed her another, and she backhanded the next bottle across the creature’s cheek. He stumbled backward. 

Podrick and Theon joined in and began to pelt Baelish with bottles of wine. Soon he was dripping with the caustic stuff. Still, the creature would not stop its determined advance.

“Dreadfort, Jaime. Finish him.” She nodded to the flames that engulfed part of the dais.

Jaime was at the perfect angle to accomplish this, and he beamed. Running full tilt, his shoulder slammed into Baelish. When he impacted against the dripping wet creature, Baelish was flung backward into the fire. Jaime ducked away just in time to dance under the swipes from the creature’s dangerous claws as it went up in flames. 

But as the flames licked his wine-soaked limbs, Littlefinger did not cease pursuing his goal. The consuming fire only slowed him down, his intent still at reaching Sansa. 

Unfazed, Jaime tossed Brienne a carving knife and she grabbed it hilt first. They stalked towards Baelish, and the sense of victory coursed through Brienne’s veins. Unlike the Dreadfort, this time their prey would not escape them.

Nearly upon Baelish, she crouched to attack. Jaime was close by her side, mimicking her body language. She growled dangerously low to the creature, “You still owe us your head, Baelish.”

The burning creature turned on them and snarled. 

But before they could pounce to finish him, Jon Snow suddenly shoved past the surprised Lannisters. Without ceremony, he swung and chopped off Baelish’s head with Longclaw. Baelish’s claws reached up as if to still fight, and Jon kicked the headless body into the nearby flames. It still thrashed about until Brienne punted his head to join the body in the flames.

Finally, it stopped moving as the fire crisped the undead skin like a burnt pig, and it popped from the heat. The man who had caused such misery to so many was finally dead. 

Jon gasped out to Brienne and Jaime, “Debts paid, Lannisters.” 

Coming down from their blood lust, Jaime grinned wolfishly at Jon, “Accepted.” And Brienne nodded stoutly in agreement.

Everyone’s sigh of relief was cut short when they heard the crackling of flames suddenly change to a sudden loud whoosh, and the entire dais was engulfed in flames.

Since the threat of the undead had been taken care of, Wildings and Clansmen raced up. All looked to Brienne for direction.

Without a thought, Brienne commanded, “Let’s get these fires out. Grab some containers, fill them with snow and toss them on the worst of the fires first. All of you form a chain and get to work, now.” Noticing that some of the nobility had slinked back into the room, she barked out, “That includes you too, Lord Manderly. And all your friends.”   
This time he did not protest her orders and motioned those with him to assist.

Jon Snow grinned at her, “Well done, my Lady. Are you sure you are not a field commander?”

Brienne blushed, but nodded succinctly, “I will leave that in your capable hands, Lord Commander Snow.”

Wildings, nobles, servants, and Clansmen started a bucket brigade, and by working in tandem, they doused the fire with snow. Because of their quick work, the fire damage was not as significant as Brienne feared it would be. But the smell of the burned corpse was atrocious and she did not believe they could ever scrub out the room well enough to get rid of that stench. 

During this frenzied activity, the Maester treated Tyrion first, who had been injured the worst out of all the wounded. As Jaime, Brienne, and Sansa waited apprehensively, they were relieved when Tyrion soon awoke. Any concern for him was abated when he demanded, “I need wine, but the good stuff, not this caustic swill that was strong enough to ignite the undead.” 

Sansa hugged and kissed him, her honest emotions welling to the surface and Tyrion grinned unapologetically. 

Brienne noticed Podrick sulking in the shadows, glumly accepting his lady’s choice in men. Brienne swelled with pride at his maturity and nodded solemnly at her squire. He could not meet her gaze, and he stalked from the chambers.

Once the room was put back as it once was as best as possible, the nobles, Wildings, and Clansmen all sat, intermingling with one another united by the fire and the monster they had just witnessed. Soon soot-smudged citizens enjoyed the fine wine that was served to the crowd. They murmured and chattered together, only a few lords brooding solitarily in the corners.

Relieved that things were under control, Brienne noticed Lord Manderly and some of the higher Lords glaring sullenly at Sansa. Brienne figured it was due to this stunt, and she wondered if her concerns for Sansa’s impulsiveness would play out here today after all. 

Though Sansa’s dangerous example had almost backfired horribly, at least no one had been killed. Hopefully, the wine would sooth any lingering resentment. She had heard that the northern folk were a tough lot. No doubt this was due to the hardships they faced in this formidable climate. She smiled when some of the Wildings gamely consumed food that had been trampled upon or singed from the fire.

Brienne even drank a cup of wine herself, though she had watered most of it down. The smell of burning decay and caustic spirits seemed to be stuck in her nostrils, but this fine fruity beverage helped dispel some of it. Jaime sat next to her and leaned over close, his irritated expression obvious. Before he could snap at her, she stated quietly, “I cannot stop who I am, Jaime.”

He exhaled loudly. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded, “I accept that, but I still don’t have to like you jumping willingly into danger.”

She dipped her head in understanding, and they sat together in resigned silence.

Brienne glanced over at Tyrion and Sansa and was pleased that the diminutive Lord had regained most of the color to his features. She figured that the copious amounts of wine he’d consumed had helped put color back into his cheeks. He and Sansa had been quietly conferring, and Brienne knew that the disparaging grumbles from the northern lords had not gone unobserved by them.

After most of the wine had been drunk, Sansa cleared her throat, and those seated turned their attention to her. Standing, Sansa addressed the crowd, “My apologies for that risky demonstration, but I needed all of you to realize the truth of what we face.” 

The crowd murmured its disapproval, but Sansa pressed on, “The White Walkers have a huge army that grows stronger with each new death. Their influence even now reaches this far South, and that is a threat. To combat this expanding menace, we need more troops.” 

Tormund spoke up, “The Free Folk past the Wall will join the fight.” 

“And the Northern Clans will be happy to aid your people in this worthwhile cause,” Celyne said proudly. She glanced up at Tormund and smiled. 

Sansa nodded in gratitude, her focus once more on the nobility. “If chosen as your Warden, I will expect all the Houses to volunteer as many men possible to drive the White Walkers back to whatever hell they came from.”

But still Manderly scoffed, “Yes, you’ve proven that they are an unstoppable threat, but I will not give you my men. The King will surely send troops up here to attack you for killing Lord Bolton. And any who side with you will be the first to be vanquished.” 

Shaking her head, Sansa stated, “Honestly, I am less worried about the southerners attacking than I am about these relentless undead creatures.” She exhaled, her gaze sharply focused on the strongest of the northern lords. “Regardless, you bring up a valid point about possible insurrection from the south. Just so all of you know, I will be keeping a large garrison here to keep an eye on things should there be any trouble.” 

The unspoken threat was not lost on Manderly, who once more sneered. He opened his mouth but was interrupted.

A bandaged Tyrion sighed loudly, and rubbed his temples, “Lord Manderly, my father the Hand knows better than to waste his time coming up North. Besides, Lady Sansa has a legitimate claim as Warden, and he knows that.”

Still, Manderly would not acquiesce. “No, I do not trust that the Hand would not retaliate. I will not be cut too thin by giving you most of my troops. Being the closest and most accessible to King’s Landing, my harbor would be the first to be invaded by the King’s men.” He sneered at Tyrion, “You are a fool to ignore your father’s reputation.”

Arms crossed from frustration, Jaime snapped out, “And you are an idiot to not to listen to someone who knows him better than you. The Hand would only care if you tried to usurp his and the King’s power.”

The higher nobility grumbled louder, clearly agitated at what Jaime had said.

Before any more spiteful words could be exchanged, the calm voice from Lady Cerwyn cut through the din of hostility, “You must listen to Lady Sansa. The North needs to be united to face this threat from beyond the Wall. Though we have just gotten rid of the past ruthless murderers, Roose Bolton and his bastard son, that does not mean we can rest easy now.” 

Her crisp, bright gaze scanned the audience, and her vehement words were a strict staccato, “I know Lady Sansa. She is honorable and will do what is best for the North. I trust her, and if she says that this undead menace should be our main focus, then I agree with her. And I think if we band as one, with her in charge, we can face anything and win.”

Many of the noble houses reluctantly nodded in agreement. Most were no longer even glancing in Manderly’s direction.

Taking in this change of the crowd’s demeanor, Tyrion pounced, “I believe that the Lady Sansa has proven to be the best one to handle this crisis and should be made Warden. What say all of you?”

Lord Manderly, too, was gauging his allies. When he recognized that the tide had turned solidly against him, he grudgingly nodded with the others.

Smiling coyly, Tyrion said to the corpulent lord, “Then we agree that a Stark should be Warden of the North.”

Through gritted teeth, the Lord of the White Harbor dourly said, “Yes.” 

Though Manderly acquiesced, Brienne saw that there was something not quite wholesome about his acceptance. His eyes darted to Rodrik’s, and they seemed to exchange a silent pledge between them. 

If Tyrion noticed this, he did not call any attention to it. Instead, he loudly clapped in hands and said, “Excellent, then might I suggest that instead of holding the coronation tomorrow night, that we do so now?”

Unsaid was the worry that the nobility might once more change their minds. 

The gentry glanced at one another, unsure. Manderly nodded, “Yes, that is a splendid idea.”

Brienne frowned at the man and wondered when he had become so accommodating.

“Thank you all for your support.” Sansa said as she glanced about the damaged room with a frown, “But might I suggest we take this inauguration to another chamber. This one reeks of an old failure.” Her pointed gaze stared in Baelish’s direction.

Nearly all the citizens nodded vehemently and got up to leave.

With help from his wife, Tyrion got to his feet, and the two of them made their way slowly towards the dining room where the coronation would now take place.

The last to leave the room, Jaime said to his wife as they stood, “Well, at least our inauguration won’t be so dramatic.”

Brienne chuckled and took his offered arm, “We could only be so lucky.”

*

Though the chambers were not as festively decorated as the main reception hall had been, the dining room proved to work well for their needs. Thankfully, the proceeding coronation ran much smoother than the earlier party had. 

Still expecting trouble, Brienne kept glancing over at the nobility, but they were politely cordial throughout the swearing in. 

During the entire proceedings, Tyrion gazed up at his wife in such proud adoration that Brienne could not stop herself from tearing up. She blamed her pregnancy as she sniffled into the grease stained handkerchief that Jaime had given to her earlier. But she was proud of Sansa and relieved that she and Tyrion seemed to have come to an understanding. It was clear that Tyrion admired Sansa, and the way Sansa had rushed to his side earlier in the evening suggested she felt something for her Lannister husband, too. Brienne knew Sansa had not known much kindness from men in her past, but she hoped that Tyrion would show her that now and prove to be a supportive and capable partner.

Jaime, too, couldn’t stop the feeling of happiness that welled in his chest as he gazed at the couple. It seemed that everything was finally working out for his younger brother, who had never had much luck in anything. Tyrion was the best of them; he deserved a chance to make his life into what he willed. 

Once the vow was made and the crown was officially placed on Sansa’s head, those before her showed their fealty to the new Warden by bowing and curtsying. In that moment, Sansa’s smile was bright enough to rival the sun. 

*

Afterward, another celebration was held. An impromptu dinner was served, complete with live music in the background. 

When the plate of roast boar, stemmed root vegetables and fresh baked bread was plopped in front of him, Jaime thought he would swoon. He was grateful that for once the food was edible and devoured the meal.

Once dinner concluded, people got up and mingled with one another, and a jaunty tune from the musicians accompanied their courtesies. The gathering was more jovial than the last party, as it seemed that the nobility were more welcoming of Sansa and the Free Folk. 

This time when the groups congregated, they intermingled with one and all, no matter the social rank. A comradeship had been born from facing a common foe. But still, there was a slight sense of things being off and Brienne could not put her finger on it.

Standing at the opposite end of the room, she and Sansa quietly conferred. Now and then, someone would pass them and pleasantly nod or show reverence to Lady Sansa.   
When Celyne and Tormund stumbled past, they drunkenly smiled at both noble women and excused themselves for the night.

Sansa sighed diplomatically, “I don’t suppose we will see them again for some time. I certainly hope Winterfell can handle their… unification.”

Both women chuckled at the image. Gaining confidence, Sansa turned to face her friend and said, “Brienne, I owe you an apology. I had no right talking to you in such a manner this morning. You have done so much for me.” She glanced over in the direction of their husbands who sat nearby drinking, and nodded at Jaime, “I really owe you both more than I could say.”

Brienne smiled sincerely but did not answer. She still found it difficult to forget the harsh words that Sansa had said to her earlier; it would take time for the sting to fade.

Gauging her friend’s hesitancy, Sansa solemnly stated to Brienne, “Once more, I owe you a life debt.” She laughed and said with honesty, “I wish I could knight you for all you’ve done.”

Brienne still held back, not delving too deep into expressing her thoughts aloud. She had been sword and counsel to Sansa; though they had been friends, Brienne also took that commitment seriously and tried to keep her emotions at a distance. Now she reminded herself that her oath was finished and, as such, maybe they could be friends after all. Taking a breath, Brienne decided to put the burden of oaths and loyalty behind them.

She grinned and said, “I wish you could, too, Sansa.” 

Absentmindedly, Brienne stroked her belly, as if calming the babe and herself. This subconscious act was not missed by Sansa.

Sansa grasped Brienne’s arm and stated earnestly, “And I know you are going to make a fine mother, Brienne.”

Not so long ago, Brienne would have demurred otherwise, but with all they had been through, she had changed her mind in that, too. There were still doubts—there would always be trials to challenge her beliefs regarding motherhood—but she knew she was not alone in this venture. Jaime would be a great father, and between the two of them, they would be alright. If anything, this journey had proved that they worked wonderfully together.

She smiled genuinely and nodded, “Thank you, Sansa. And I know someday you will be as well.” 

As soon as she said the words, Brienne wanted to curse aloud. Though Sansa and Tyrion played the role of lovers well, she did not truly know how far the act went and was afraid she might have insulted Sansa.

Seeing that her friend thought she had stepped over the line, Sansa assured her, “I hope you are right.” She gazed over to her husband, who seemed to be staring at her strangely as if he knew she was talking about him. “Tyrion is so unlike anyone I have ever known,” she confided. “Podrick was amazing, but I need a partner that I could confide to about anything and Tyrion is perfect for that—not to mention his quick wit and political savvy. I think between the two of us, the North will never be the same.”

Brienne smirked thoughtfully. It was not the first time she wondered if putting these two together would have lasting ramifications for the kingdom. Regardless of the future, she was pleased that everything was working out between Tyrion and Sansa. Hopefully, tonight would be the start of them being together as husband and wife in more than just words. 

*

Nearby, Jaime and Tyrion sat drinking wine, and they watched their wives happily interact.

After taking a gulp to help quell the pain from his wounds, Tyrion indicated the two women. “I am glad that whatever grievances they had between them is now over. Maybe with that oath out of the way, they can finally be friends.” 

Jaime sighed, “I too hope so. Alas, I don’t think that my wife has ever had a friend she did not feel she needed to protect.”

Turning their attention to the rest of the room, they quietly studied the northern lords who milled around like restless dogs. Their smiles were too big and too full of teeth.

Jaime took a quick sip of wine, “Your plan was very risky.”

Tyrion self-consciously rubbed his bandaged face. “Drastic measures were called for if we were to get the southerners on our side.”

Jaime studied the lords around them. “I hope you are not going to turn your backs on them.”

Tyrion nodded. “Ah, I have learned from an early age never to trust anyone taller than myself. Present company excluded. Too bad, too, it will make our war against the Others so much longer.”

“I truly hope you know what you are getting into brother.” Jaime once more nodded in the direction of their wives.

Tyrion seemed to puff up in pride. “I said I would protect her and I meant it. Besides, I think I have finally found my calling in politics.”

“Well, you are very good at it.” Jaime could not help but cheekily add, “Father would be most pleased.”

Just then, Brienne and Sansa looked at their husbands and smiled coquettishly. Jaime did not miss the way Sansa ran her eyes over Tyrion appreciatively. Was Tyrion going to get lucky tonight? 

Tyrion could not help but jape, “And if my wife is pleased, we might celebrate tonight as well. Too bad I am too wounded to show her a proper merger.”

Jaime chuckled, “I am sure you will have plenty of time with the cold winter nights ahead of you, brother.”

“And you as well.” Tyrion chirped back at him.

They raised their cups in salute. “To our wives,” Tyrion cheered, “May they keep us in and out of trouble.”

Laughing, Jaime rang his cup against Tyrion’s and smiled heartily. “Here, here. And for making us better men in every way.” 

They turned their attention to Sansa and Brienne, and chorused as one, “Long may they reign.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so it is the Epilogue that might take some time for me to finish now. Sorry! But again, thank you all for your patience and of course for reading this! You guys have been great.


	30. Epilogue – To New Beginnings

Before the Northern nobility could scurry away from Winterfell to tend their wounded egos in private, Sansa called them all to the main hall. Thankfully, the stench of the burned corpse had lessened somewhat, but most of Sansa’s audience still grimaced in distaste. Sansa did not know if it was due to the lingering smell or of having to accept her as the new Warden of the North.

Taking in their cool expressions, she had a feeling that it was regarding both. She felt Tyrion grasp her hand for support and she smiled at his thoughtful attention. He sat awkwardly beside her on the dais, still too pale for her liking, but game enough to help her deal with the disingenuous gentry one last time. 

She and Tyrion had spent the night together, but they’d done nothing more than holding each other and talk about their plans. She could tell he was frustrated by her cautious approach to consummating their marriage, but that quiet time had afforded them a chance to strategize more for what lied ahead. 

Which was why she had ordered the nobility to attend her one last time before they left. Both she and Tyrion realized they could not focus on their enemies beyond the Wall when those on their doorstep could be planning to attack them at any time. They would need help in keeping an eye on the duplicitous nobility, especially Lord Manderly.  
Alas, this meant they could only rely on the one person among their ranks who had proven to be trustworthy.

“I hope everyone had a pleasant night’s sleep.” Most squinted at Sansa either warily or hung-over, but neither was her fault. She continued overly enthused, “Good. Now I think with how large the North is, we need a liaison between the more southern Houses and us to help keep communication open. It is my wish that Lady Cerwyn should act in this capacity.”

There was a muted gasp in the audience. Sansa asked the older woman, “Lady Cerwyn, does this meet with your approval?

Before this gathering, they had made sure to discuss their plan with Lady Cerwyn, but formalities had to be followed. Beaming, the Lady from the House of Cerwyn curtseyed, “It would be my pleasure, Warden.”

“And what say all of you?” Sansa glanced at her new allies.

With a toothy grin, Manderly and the others nodded their acceptance.

Pleased, Sansa stated, “Good, then Lady Cerwyn will act as the liaison between our various houses.”

As the gentry crowded around Lady Cerwyn congratulating her, a dejected Hollis Mollen watched from the corner. Sansa took pity on him and signaled him forward. “Captain, I am going to need a new honor guard to escort Lady Cerwyn throughout the North. I was wondering if that was a task you might like to undertake.”

He smiled wide, delighted with the offer, and bowed. “Warden, it would be my pleasure.”

Grinning, she motioned for him to be excused. With a lightness to his step, he began to walk among the Winterfell guard, hunting for the best to accompany them on their travels. 

When they had spoken earlier, Sansa was pleasantly surprised that Lady Cerwyn said she would not mind if Hollis accompanied her as the Captain of her honor guard.

Tyrion squeezed Sansa’s hand, and she turned to him. “You know he is not what he used to be.”

Shyly, she answered, “The same could be said of us.”

“You have a kind heart, my lady.” Their eyes met, and they leaned towards each other.

Before they could continue, they heard a throat clearing and glanced up to see the lords and ladies waiting to be dismissed.

Flustered, Sansa nodded to those below. “Thank you, one and all. Please have a safe journey home.” She did not need to remind them that she expected their troops to be sent up to Winterfell as soon as possible. Lady Cerwyn had already been given the order to ‘politely’ remind them of this. 

Dismissed, the nobility scurried from the large chambers, racing for their carriages to take them home. With how rapidly they moved, it seemed that they thought they could outrun the insanity that they had seen last night. Sansa and Tyrion sat back and sighed. 

“So, my lady, shall we see them off?” Tyrion asked.

She nodded, and they rose to follow the gentry from the room, holding hands as they walked.

Once the officious nobles had ridden off, Tormund and Celyne finally emerged from their commandeered quarters after hammering out their own… alliance. It seemed that among the Wildings culture, it meant that they were now married. Disheveled, they greeted their unified people to a rousing cheer.

Tyrion and Sansa chuckled, and she hoped that such joyous times would continue even through the trying times ahead. Leaving the impromptu festivities, Tyrion and Sansa made their way back to their chambers. They had their own alliance that needed to be solidified.

*

The next proceeding days were loud and busy as the Clansmen, and Free Folk prepared to leave to their various assigned places. It was decided that Tormund and Celyne would jointly lead their people to The Gift. Once the Free Folks families were settled, the Wildings and Northern Clans would then trudge to Castle Black. Once they met up with Jon, they would take the battle to the White Walkers beyond the Wall.

Jon vowed that after they had gone past the Wall, he would find his younger brothers and send them home to the safety of Winterfell.

The families of the Northern Clans would instead trek to their new home, the smoldering ruins that had once been the Dreadfort. They would camp around the fortress, guarding it while artisans and workers from around the North arrived to repair and rebuild the imposing structure. It was hoped that once it was back to being a well-fortified Keep, it would be a safe place to retreat to should the undead menace overcome Jon and the others.

Once completed, the Clans families would stay there, while the more able-bodied fighters would head back to Winterfell to man the garrison, should there be any trouble coming from the south. Since the Dreadfort would be impregnable once again, Sansa felt that there was no need to keep a force there should any disgruntled nobles decide to take it from them.

Before the groups left, Sansa had Lord Wull buried in the Weirwood patch. Celyne was strong throughout the service, but both she and Brienne shed tears for the man who had touched their lives. 

The next day, the Clansmen and Free Folk marched towards their various destinations. 

Brienne and Jaime reveled in the sudden quiet, and the following days became a mindless movement of time. When they weren’t enjoying the baths, they were sleeping in, sparing, or making love. It was a delightful way to finish their productive honeymoon. 

They even managed to fit in visiting Tyrion whenever they could. He continued to recuperate from his wounds, and it was wonderful to see him doing better with each passing day. 

Towards the end of the week, Jaime and Brienne met with Jon and Tyrion for an impromptu war council. In a few days, Jon was to leave for Castle Black. For the battle against the Wrights to be successful, Jon needed the Lannisters support. Or more truthfully, he needed their coffers.

Jon and Tyrion began by telling Jaime and Brienne all they had discovered about the White Walkers. Tyrion boasted to his brother, “You know I learned everything I could to defeat them.” 

Jaime snorted. His brother’s self-preservation skills were legendary.

After hearing more about this horrible undead menace, Jaime and Brienne agreed they could assist Jon in stopping these formidable creatures.

“And you will send us trained troops?” Jon was clearly relieved. “We will also need money for supplies.”

Jaime grinned; of course, they would need gold most of all. It never failed that once someone found out you had money, they would always want a piece of it. Jaime mentally chastised himself. It was unfair of him to think such things, for this campaign was important, and many of the South still did not believe that the threat existed. He planned on sending a lengthy missive to his father on the issue, but he doubted that the Hand would see it as a threat instead of an opportunity.

“Once I get home, I will do my best to assist you,” Jaime promised, and Jon glowered. It was obvious he had heard such assurances before.

But Tyrion understood. Court life was always difficult to navigate, and he worried that his older brother would have more trouble than someone who was used to political maneuvering. Unfortunately, neither Brienne nor Jaime seemed all that adept at the Game and would have to rely on other means to achieve success. Also, Uncle Kevan was rather entrenched at the Rock, and Jaime would certainly hit a wall with him, especially if the Lannister’s were as destitute as the books had shown.

Once Jon left the room, Tyrion noticed how despondent Brienne was. He had a feeling she knew the difficulties ahead and did not envy her having to deal with ruling Casterly Rock. He patted her lightly on the hand. “I must tell you about the marvelous library at the Rock. My brother told me that you are an avid reader and there is one section of the library you must check out first…” 

He began to describe it as he refilled his goblet. He found that drink helped to keep him warm in this trying weather as well as relieve the pain of his lingering injuries.

Brienne listened intently, but a bored Jaime got up. Before he wandered away, he stated over his shoulder to his wife, “When you are done talking, I plan to slowly study all your amazing freckles, my Lady wench. As well as other things. I believe it might take the whole night.” 

Tyrion could hear the leer in his brother’s voice. He tried not to roll his eyes when he saw Brienne squirming in her seat.

*

The next morning, a Wilding page came to the Lannister’s room and stated gruffly that Jaime had been summoned to his brother’s chambers. 

Strolling into the quarters, Jaime found Tyrion propped up in bed, reading a missive. 

Gravely, Tyrion glanced up at his older brother and stated without preamble, “Sorry Jaime, your honeymoon is over. You and you wife have been ordered to leave for Casterly Rock immediately by the Hand.”

“Hum?” Jaime replied distractedly.

Tyrion sighed. He loved his brother dearly, but he found that after the last week of being around his very satiated brother, he was getting on his last nerve. Especially since he had yet to reach nirvana himself with his loving wife. Still, Sansa refused to bed him until he was fully mended.

Nodding determinedly, Tyrion stated, “Yes. Go home. Immediately.” 

He felt a momentary pang of guilt and quickly quelled the feeling of pleasure he felt at seeing his sibling’s features droop. Tyrion solemnly stated, “I can get you horses and supplies. And I thought that maybe you should take passage via a boat. You can ride to the Moat Cailin docks and find a ship there. That would save you quite a bit of time.”

“Not to mention how my back would love not being stuck in a saddle for a long journey,” Jaime contemplated as he rubbed his chin, “though being ridden by my wench… Ah, that is a marvelous idea brother.” 

Tyrion noticed the gleam in Jaime’s eyes. He could tell that his brother was already looking forward to continuing his ‘private’ time with his amorous wife.

Realizing that he would not be seeing his brother for some time, Tyrion added, “You and your lady will be most missed.” 

Massaging his still aching stump softly against his insulated leathers, Jaime admitted, “Well, I certainly will not miss this cold. I feel like I am weak enough as it is without the weather adding more discomfort to my bones. But then going home itself and then ruling it…” His voice petered out, no doubt apprehensive as to what awaited him at Casterly Rock.

Tyrion pursed his lips at his despondent brother. He did not blame Jaime’s underlying trepidation about his destination. He was smart to be worried. Their ancestral home was filled with vipers and spiders, all vying for their own agenda. Wondering if his advice would help Jaime at his new residence, Tyrion reminded his brother, “Use any perceived weakness to your advantage, Jaime. That includes all labels you are stuck with. People assume that I am simple because of my size and they fail because of it.”

Jaime smiled. “Some time ago, my wife practically said the same thing.” 

“She is right.” Tyrion always knew he’d like the woman who had kept his broken brother alive all that time ago in the Riverlands. He also understood that Jaime had thought himself unable to succeed at politics, but that was a false notion. 

Jaime’s gaze was distant, and he worried his lower lip. Tyrion reassured him, “Brother, you are not some naïve idiot when it comes to getting what you want to be done politically. You are a Lannister, and we are smarter and trickier than most. Trust in your lineage, Jaime. It will serve you well. And if not,” he added with a grin, “fake it.” 

Jaime blinked a few times and then his smile became lopsided. “You are correct, brother. I am a Lannister.” He tapped his chin with his stump. “Thankfully, I do recall some of what father had taught us.” He self-consciously glanced down at his stump, “Yes, it is time to use what I have, not rely on what I have lost.” 

Jaime nodded to the parchment that Tyrion held clutched in his hand. By the heavy creases, it appeared that his brother had crumpled and smoothed it out numerous times. “Any word from father about Winterfell?” Unsaid was, if the Hand approved of Tyrion’s role and if Sansa was accepted as Warden of the North.

Tyrion shrugged, “Oh, you know father. Not even congratulations or a well done. Just a gruff, ‘Do not bother me again.’ I suppose that means we shouldn’t expect to be invaded anytime soon, so that’s a plus.” 

The brothers exhaled loudly in unison and then shared a tentative grin. Jaime could not help but jape, “Well, that’s father for you.”

Chuckling, Tyrion refilled their cups of wine, and they continued talking, knowing that soon they would not be able to do so for some time.

*

Later that afternoon, Lady Sansa and Brienne strolled through the Weirwood grove. Taking in Brienne’s sullen behavior, Sansa said, “I see you received the news from my husband.”

Sighing in concern, Brienne nodded, “Yes, my lady.” 

With a brief smile, Sansa smirked, “Well as a Southerner, you should be happy to be getting out of this cold.”

Brienne bit back, “Oh, I do not know how much warmer that castle will be.”

Sansa glanced over at her sharply, “You are going to a better situation than what you had come from in King’s Landing. You share the chair with your husband; most women cannot achieve that.”

The new Lady of Casterly Rock stared silently at the younger woman, so Sansa continued, “I know it is overwhelming for you, but I also know you can do this. Something my mother always used to tell me: They can only make you feel inferior if you let them. Be the strong, independent, stubborn woman that your husband fell in love with. Just be yourself, Brienne, and you will do fine.”

Brienne shook her head, her confidence still low, “But I do not want to rule. What if they do not listen to me?”

Knowingly, Sansa nodded, “I have learned that by leading by example, others will follow. You will find what works best for you. You are new to all this so allow yourself time to learn and grow from this experience. And you are always welcome back here if you need an escape.”

Brienne smiled her thanks. “And you are always welcome at my new home.” She nodded to the Godswood, “Any word from your brothers?” She had seen Sansa meditate in the grove for hours these past few days.

Sansa shook her head sadly. “No.” She saw Brienne glance guiltily to the side, “Don’t tell me you are thinking of following Jon past the Wall?” She teased. Seeing her friend fidgeted, she quickly stated, “You have your own family to look after now.”

Brienne automatically placed her hand on her stomach. Even in the short time they had been here, she had started to show. Jaime seemed unable to keep his hands off her and her stomach now. “And thus adds to my feeling more overwhelmed.”

Shaking her head to dispel the woman’s concern, Sansa said, “It will be alright, Brienne. You look after everyone so well.” She quirked a smile at the giantess, “Why, you’ve been unknowingly training for this for a long time already.”

Brienne wondered if the Stark girl was eluding to her husband as such practice. She cheekily replied, “If you are referring to Jaime and his antics, then yes, I have been raising a child already.”

Sansa was pleased that she made the usually dour woman smile. “Exactly, you have plenty of patience for what lies ahead.”

But such good thoughts seemed to never last long for her, and Brienne solemnly stated, “I am sure that Jaime and I will do fine. It is the unknown that I fear the most.”

Sansa sighed. The woman beside her was such a conundrum. She seemed to be a true romantic but was still expected the worst out of a situation and people. Sansa vehemently argued, “Yes, but over time you will learn that the things you cannot control are the ones that will drive you the maddest. It is best to learn to let it go and just accept that it will be whatever it will be. Within reason, that is.”

Brienne nodded at Sansa’s sage advice. “You have grown up fast, my Lady.”

Now Sansa became grim. “I think all of us have had to.” 

“I said it before, but I know that your mother would be so very proud of you.” 

Sansa linked arms with Brienne and began to pull her back towards the Keep, “As she would of you as well.” She added with a small laugh, “I do hope you will visit again soon. Things will be rather dull without you two around.”

Smirking, Brienne bobbed her head, and replied, “I am sure. But, yes, once the babe is born I would love to do so. I have a feeling I will need a place for respite.” 

Sansa understood Brienne’s torment and squeezed her arm. “Don’t worry, there will be much fun ahead of you, even at the Rock.”

And Brienne once again thought about her future and grinned. Maybe her new life won’t be so bad after all, what with a child and husband who would always be there for her. And if things went bad, there was always the open road for them to escape to. Still, though, her thoughts nagged in worry about the unknown, and she shuddered.

*

‘Of course,’ Jaime thought sarcastically as he stared up at the snow that had begun to fall once again. He and his group sat on horses in Winterfell’s courtyard, shivering from the sudden chill. It was one more reason why he was glad they were headed south.

Before them, a small gathering of friends stood, and they exchanged their final goodbyes.

The always-glum Jon Snow once more warned them, “Remember, Winter is coming.” The threat was clear. They were one of the richest families and were expected to help fund the cause against White Walkers. Jaime knew the Rock had plenty of soldiers to send to them, but funding the whole campaign would be a whole different affair.

“Aren’t you Starks tired of saying that all the time?” Jaime asked good-naturedly. 

He was trying to lighten the mood. Between the dour disposition of his wife and her squire Podrick (who would not even look in Brienne’s direction), he was tempted to stay up here and continue to freeze parts of himself off. Acknowledging Jon’s frown, he amended, “We will do whatever we can to help.”

The Lord Commander sighed but then nodded amicably. 

“Well, goodbye brother.” Tyrion grumped out.

Jaime internally sighed, ‘Not him too.’ That morning, Tyrion had confided in him that his wife still would not lie with him in fear of breaking him in two! He would miss Tyrion, but he was glad to be leaving his brother’s unhappy marriage behind for his happy one. 

“Thank you all for everything,” Sansa said seriously. It was not hard to tell that the young Warden was trying to hold back her tears. 

Brienne nodded stoically in response, her eyes shimmering as a tear or two leaked down her cheeks.

In surveying the group, Jaime realized he was the only one who wasn’t sad about leaving. The talk with his brother yesterday had really helped his perspective about what awaited them. 

Now he could not wait to get back home where he could show off his new wife and future heir. Sure, he hadn’t been to his ancestral home in years, but his fond memories his childhood was still strong, and he knew it was going to be great. Especially since his father was leagues away from them. They would just have to deal with whatever politics were thrown their way when it happened.

Jaime eagerly glanced over Brienne, but she was now staring so hard at the snow he thought it would combust from the intensity. Between leaving the Starks, her pregnancy, and what she would soon have to face at Casterly Rock, he knew her mood would not be pleasant on their journey south. He would just have to remind her again and again of all the good in her life now. And he looked forward to doing so in the privacy of their cabin on the boat.

Breaking her out of her revelry, he declared, “Come, wife, we have warmer places to be!” And with a wave, they and their borrowed honor guards headed out of the main gate on their way to Moat Cailin. Once there, they would catch a boat at Blazewater Bay to take them home to Casterly Rock.

And to the new adventures that awaited them there.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been such a joy to write and a wonderful learning experience. Thank all of you for joining me on this journey. I hope you have enjoyed it as much as I did. I really appreciate all the wonderful comments and kudos, they really helped in getting this finished.
> 
> Enough could not be said about the amazing and tireless work that Bergamot did in beta'ing this. It was not an easy project and I will be forever grateful for her time and energy spent on helping me coral this into the story before you and one that I am really proud to have written. Thanks, chica! You rock!
> 
> There are about 3 - 4 more stories in this AU and I hope to start publishing the next one late in 2018. Until then, thanks again so much and here's to the happy couple, long may they reign!
> 
> (I could not think up a song to end this story with, but for some reason, Kate Bush's Aerial has been stuck in my head, so maybe that should be the end song ;-)   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJ795x9vWp8
> 
> (Oops, and it looks like Nocturn is also stuck in my brain as well - "All the Dreamers are waking")  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGjP_nHNkR4


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